Dreams of Requirement
by Kyonomiko
Summary: The Room of Requirement has a remarkable ability to give you what you need, even if you're unsure how to ask. Draco needs to hold himself together. Dreams seem to be all he has. 6th year A/U Dramione
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I forget to do these sometimes. I own things, but not these things. The Potter world is JKR's to do with as she pleases and profit. It's mine to do with as I please for free! I make no money but take great pleasure in ignoring the epilogue. Cannon is mostly followed up until this story and then through 6th year though I will take some liberties.**

Draco Malfoy is strolling around Hogwarts' famed Black Lake in a somber mood. It is the beginning of his sixth year, not even a week into term, and he is less than enthusiastic to be back.

His summer was...difficult. Of course he'd never let on that he thought so; never give away his discomfort. He'd like to think he's hiding it relatively well. The snake-faced wizard occupying his sitting room seems content enough that Draco is a willing and eager part of his ranks.

Or at least that the young wizard is dutiful or terrified enough to pretend to be.

Now, thanks to his father's failures, he has roughly nine months to do the absolutely impossible. One of the greatest wizards in all of history has asked that he assassinate someone that the He himself had been unable to best. Draco, an underage, barely tested wizard, is to take on his lustrous school's headmaster in the name of Lord Voldemort. And if he fails? Well, he may as well seek out last rights before he shows up on his own doorstep.

He rubs his forearm subconsciously as he strolls, mindful of the stinging discomfort still present where his new Lord left his mark.

Around the lake's parameter, he has been watching the silhouette of a figure come into focus. Merely a person, vague at first, has slowly morphed into what was definitely a female and, now that he is approaching, a most vexing identity at that.

"Granger," he drawls in way of greeting. He takes in her appearance and sneers a bit at her obvious muggle attire. Pants inappropriately tight for a lady, jumper irritatingly ill-fitted, and boots to the knee only called for if she plans to sit astride a horse... or muck out its barn.

Under normal circumstances he most likely would not have addressed her at all. Though something scratches at his brain and it doesn't feel like normal circumstances. Hence the greeting, cold though it was.

"Malfoy." She says it slightly breathless, her dark eyes wide, as if shocked to see him there. His presence at Hogwarts shouldn't come as such a surprise.

"You're looking particularly muggle today," he tells her with mild disdain. "I was given to understand your family is relatively comfortable, you know, for the base animals that they are. Is that jumper of sentimental value or have I been misled as to your paltry level of wealth?"

She gapes a moment before huffing and stomping her foot in a miniature tantrum. "It's _comfortable_. Is that a concept with which you are familiar?"

He grins. He's never once deigned to grace Hermione Granger with more than a sneer but he feels oddly free of expression today. "I'll have you know I feel amazing in fine silk and well cut garments. The witches certainly don't complain of the result and, of course, what's more _comfortable_ than being inside a warm witch?"

"Oh my God, that's disgusting." She wrinkles her nose at him and plows forward. "I guess this is a subconscious image of what our conversations would be like if we could refrain from blatant insults and hexes."

"What are-" And then he realizes: A dream. The odd sense of freedom, her overly muggle clothing, the eerie calm of the lake and quiet, unpopulated campus...

He recovers quickly and allows himself to indulge in such a tangible, realistic fantasy. Smirking, he continues to move closer until he is skating within "personal space" territory and looks her over. "The trousers though, those are delightfully slag-ish. Muggles like to advertise their nether-regions in general? Or is that just your personal desperation showing through?"

She narrows her eyes. "I am not desperate nor am I advertising anything. These are very common and not at all as lude as you suggest."

Draco shrugs and shifts his weight ever so slightly, leaning his body fractionally closer. He knows he's tall and that it's imposing against someone of her slight frame. Before he can speak she takes a step back, disguising it as a change of her own stance but he knows it was purposeful to create distance. It makes him a little giddy to know that he is affecting the usually _unaffected_ little witch.

"What kind of a ridiculous dream is this anyway? Some kind of introspective nonsense about personal demons?"

He considers her a moment and gives the question his attention. Is she his personal demon? Because she bests him academically? Because she makes him ask hard questions of himself and the Dark Lord's ultimate goals? Because she represents so much that he finds difficult about his own philosophies?

Finally, not wanting to allow the dream to take such a serious turn, he just smiles wider and muses, "Sexual fantasy?"

Her nose wrinkles again but this time, instead of keeping up the pretense of disgust, she drops her guard and laughs. It's a genuine sound of amusement that he's only associated with her in rare occasions and only when amongst her boorish Gryffindor friends. "Well that's a silly theory," she finally manages.

"Why, precisely? That lunatic animal on your head that you call hair?" She starts to get offended and he answers his own questions, leaning in as if to impart a secret, "because, if I'm honest I find it more fascinating than unattractive. I imagine it's quite fetching, thrown over your head while you squirm beneath a talented wizard."

Her mouth, open to offer a retort to his original comment, snaps closed and her cheeks pink. Draco is finding this delightfully fun. He can say anything here. Do anything. If there is one thing that the Malfoy fortune could never afford him, most especially in the current, shall we say, "Political climate", it is freedom. So she's a mudblood? True, but still a witch. And even if you want to argue technicalities that, as a Death Eater, he should deny her even that status, she's still a _girl_. A pretty one despite what he's led her to believe over the years.

"I.. that's..." She takes a cleansing breath and tries again. "That's cute but since I'm real, your made up fantasies are irrelevant."

It's his turn to laugh and she looks as stunned to hear it as he felt watching her do the same. "That's preposterous. I know when I'm in my own head, thank you, and this dream is all mine, muggle girl."

"Muggle- _born_ ," she corrects in her annoying, swotty way. "And of course you believe it's your dream. You wouldn't be a very convincing figment if you didn't believe yourself to exist."

"So says the figment."

She stares at him a moment and then waves the thought away. "This is an impossible debate. You think you're real because you have to. If dreams do anything, it is attempt to keep you immersed and accept them as reality."

He wants to point out what a complete know-it-all she is, which in normal circumstances he definitely would have, but he finds he's enjoying himself and instead just argues back with a simple, "I think therefore I am."

"Oh now I _know_ you're a figment. No way in heaven or hell would Draco Malfoy, pureblood extraordinaire, quote Descartes."

"Why?" At her look, merely a questioning raise of her brow and a crossing of her arms, he guesses, "Because he was a muggle?" The brow raises higher and he raises his right back. "I'll have you know pureblood families are very learned in history of both wizarding _and_ muggle origins. Centuries ago, the world was much smaller and more integrated anyway."

She looks like she is questioning herself, eyes searching the distance for answers and finally mutters, "I suppose that makes sense..."

"Don't mumble, it's rude."

She looks back up at him and shakes her head a little. "Even in a dream you are such a prat."

"No. I'm well bred," he answers back. "And mumbling _is_ rude. Surely even your dirty muggle parents know that."

Her mirth vanishes and the teasing quality of the conversation with it. "They are not dirty. You know what is though? The blood on your father's hands. Not to mention the dirt on his knees, bowing to a _monster_." She clenches her fists and turns to stomp away.

He's a bit incensed, the protection of, and loyalty to, family is like a living thing, writhing within. He's annoyed by her haughty tone as well, looking like she thinks she's just won something with her pithy comment. He's angry and annoyed and tempted to send a stinging hex to her back.

But she's not wrong is she? Well, perhaps about the cleanliness of her parents. He's still of the strong opinion that muggles are little more evolved than house elves or particularly smart monkeys. But she's correct in that his own family has lowered themselves, toiling in the blood and dirt, looking up and begging approval from their knees. He's a bit disgusted with himself and his father if he's honest.

Of course he's not though. Honest.

He grabs her shoulder and turns her back to face him. "My family is sacred and powerful, Mudblood. I'd watch what I say about Lucius Malfoy if I were you."

"Or what? He might try to..." she pauses and gestures as if he might fill in the blanks. Then she snaps as if something has just come to her, "...kill me in the Ministry of Magic?!" Hermione cants her head and drily answers, "He tried that. And he lost." She shakes his arm free and turns to walk away again, this time managing a few steps.

Draco looks after her a moment and then falls in to follow. "You're on the wrong side of this war, you know. The Dark Lord is the most powerful wizard that ever lived. It's futile: The Order. All of this."

She stops and looks at him, incredulous. "So you suggest that I _what_ exactly? Switch sides? Not an option for me is it? I'm on the wrong side of this war on Voldemort's say so." He flinches at her casual use of the name which she seems to notice and she slips on a wicked grin. "You don't like when I say it? What does that say when his name strikes fear in _your_ heart, but not in mine?"

"It says you're stupid and have no idea what he's capable of," he bites back.

"Oh and you are? All protected in your pureblooded dungeons..."

"Yes I'm _well_ aware." He's quiet for a moment and she seems to have been silenced by his uncharacteristic blunt and sincere tone. They stand for a while, staring out over the lake in an oddly comfortable silence.

"You shouldn't even be here you know."

"I have _every right_ to be here-" He can feel her climbing up on a proverbial soap box and cuts her off quickly.

"No, you stupid bint, I mean if you were half as smart as you like to tell everyone, you would have left wizarding Britain by now and found a nice safe muggle island. This war is going to kill you, one way or another. Possibly your family as well."

She's properly stunned. As well she should be, Draco thinks. The real Hermione Granger should have thought of the same thing by now. But then she was sorted into Gryffindor, not Ravenclaw. Intelligence only takes you so far with you don't have a lick of actual sense.

"It's all going to change this year, isn't it?" she questions.

He's not sure if it begged an answer, being so very obvious, but he returns a softly spoken, "Yes. Everything."

XXXXXX

He wakes momentarily confused, the dream having come to an abrupt end. In front of him, the cabinet looms over his head. His first day with the cursed block of wood was less than encouraging. It seems hopelessly broken and Draco doesn't even know where to begin. The library perhaps. Research.

It's that or save The Dark Lord the trouble and tie a noose around his own neck.

Leaving the safety of The Come and Go Room, as he has heard it called, he finds Crabb and Goyle leaning against the wall in the corridor and looking at him expectantly.

"Alright, Malfoy? Howsit look?"

"Like something Mother would have thrown out with the rubbish. But it has impressive magic. Might take some time to fix what's been broken, being so complicated." He speaks with haughty confidence. As if, _they_ can't possibly understand but of course _he_ will be able to conquer the furniture in question.

"So back tonight then? After dinner?"

Draco shutters the annoyance on his face. He hasn't been able to shake these two since the Express and he's had it with their overbearing questions. He suspects it is more than idle curiosity and that they have been instructed to keep to him like barnacles on a ship.

"Of course," he sneers. "It wouldn't do to shirk my mission. I'll be here as long as it takes. You can tag along if you feel the need, just don't get in my way." They nod in response and, when Draco moves to leave, fall in step to either side and slightly behind. Like jailors walking their charge to his last meal. He can't shake the feeling throughout breakfast that at some point during the year, he may indeed experience his last instance with food in a very real way, but the smirk doesn't budge from his face.

Parkinson, bats her lashes at him at some point during the meal, her pug nose wrinkling in what he imagines she must think is cute. She hasn't paid him much attention in the last year but seems to have found renewed interest. He has no doubt she, like his lumbering "friends", is under instruction to solidify alliances, in case of a political upheaval. Nott doesn't say much, which is relatively typical, though he's still seems more withdrawn if you know him well. The rest of his house, and in fact Hogwarts in general, is rather business as usual.

He chances one fast glance to the curly-haired witch he hasn't thought of all summer yet now finds on his mind. She slipped in a bit after his own arrival and now is talking with her hands in that swotty way she has. No doubt she is instructing her cohorts in proper study skills or scheduling their days to maximum efficiency. She seems as blissfully ignorant of her impending doom as every other muggleborn in attendance. Stupid girl. Obviously not as astute as his dream version.

It will all change this year. All of it.

And when Zabini asks for the jam, if Draco drops it on the table harder than necessary, no one gives indication that they notice and everyone's mask stays intact.

 **A/N**

 **Please review :)**


	2. Chapter 2

"My, my. Two days in a row is it?" Draco is sitting atop a low stone wall that runs a distant perimeter of the Hogwarts grounds. He had watched casually as her silhouette, casting a dark shadow on the horizon, approached slowly but with purpose. "Come to visit the Death Eater again have you?"

She scoffs, rolls her large brown eyes even, and vaults herself onto the wall mere inches from Draco. "You're not a Death Eater, Malfoy."

He eyes her carefully. "Is that so? How well do you imagine you know me, Granger?"

Waving away the question with abject flippancy she clarifies, "I know you hardly at all. But logically, what would the most powerful dark wizard of our time be thinking, recruiting basically children?"

Draco's eyes narrow and he stares out to the horizon once again, the dream sun sinking lower beneath the hills. "You're smarter than that. In the history of warfare, kings and generals, madmen and despots, men always tap into the young to spill blood for them. It's not about powerful fighters at that point. Just numbers. _Expendability_." He chances a look at her to find her gazing into the distance as well, chewing her bottom lip in thought.

"I suppose...regardless, I just don't think you're truly evil."

"You don't need to be evil to fight in a war."

"No, that's true you don't," she concedes again. She looks at him then and they make eye contact for the first time in this dream. "What would you have me believe? Draco Malfoy is _not_ stupid. Misguided? Obviously." He opens his mouth to object and she holds up her hand to still him. "From my perspective at least alright? Give me that. From _my_ perspective, being a muggleborn and not wanting to wake up dead tomorrow, I think you'd have to be misguided to believe all that silly propaganda."

"Propaganda is it? What an innocuous word for the wholesale slaughter of your kind," he says with dark humor and a cruel grin.

"Yes, propaganda. No different than any other war in history. Death Eaters have been sold a lie about muggleborns stealing magic and diluting your blood lines. I've done research-"

"Of course you have," he interrupts, sarcasm dusted over the words.

" _Research"_ , she continues on stubbornly, "and if anything, fresh muggle blood is vital or the Wizardly world could breed itself out. It would take many generations of course, but if you take into account the percentage of squib births against the birth rate, eventually, provided squibs were turned away from the gene pool as I've no doubt Voldemort would prefer, the population would slowly decline until Wizards and Witches were little more than an endangered species. Not to mention the biological folly of in-breeding. As long term goals go, he really didn't think this through."

Draco opens his mouth to speak but now Gryffindor's know-it-all is on a proper tear. "And as for his 'muggle problem' as I'm sure he'd call it, what does he expect to do long term? Muggles are ninety percent of the world's population compared to our sorry ten percent. He's going to what? Kill them all?"

"I'm sure he's thought of that, Granger. He's the _Dark Lord_. He's been around for decades making plans. Maybe not kill them all. Maybe he plans to use them, like cattle-"

Her laugh is unexpected. He feels his face heat in an embarrassed rage that she would dare laugh at the creature that has so terrified him. He would tell her so if she would _bloody well_ stop laughing. Just as he thinks she will, she gasps a breath and a fresh round of laughter swells.

Finally, she is wiping tears from her eyes and she sputters, "Sorry... sorry. I know it's not funny. Truly, none of this is funny but it's just... could that be how Death Eaters really think? I mean I guess probably the really stupid ones but your family? No way. There's no way you're that daft. Cattle?...ridiculous. Do you know what muggles could _do_ to us, Draco?"

It's his turn to laugh but all he can manage is a dismissive snort. "To us? Are you serious? I know you have some silly pride in your primitive heritage or whatever but they don't have _magic_ , Granger. We can kill them with two words and very little effort."

She sobers at that and eyes him. "Yes and that's terrifying for an individual muggle. A single wizard could do a lot of damage to a family. But, Merlin, that is so short-sighted. One wizard on ten muggles? That's a fight the muggles lose, sure. But ten wizards against one hundred muggles with guns? How about one hundred wizards against one thousand muggles and a bomb? They wouldn't get 'Avada' out of their mouths before they were dust. Muggles don't even have to be in the same country to kill you with a bomb."

He's a little curious by how assured she seems. He's not convinced, mind you, but curious. "I've heard of bombs. Sort of like a… cannon is it?" Draco's knowledge of muggle warfare is relegated to about the eighteenth century and earlier. The Wizarding world, as it has become more and more isolated over the centuries, studies the current state of the humans with which they share the planet less and less.

She shakes her head a little. "Not really. I mean, I suppose it's a decent enough parallel you can draw but bombs are wholly awful compared. Muggles have weapons that can level a city. Hundreds of thousands of people killed in the blink of an eye. Not to mention the fallout that can last for much longer, killing those outside the blast radius with sickness."

"That's... that can't be true. This is some nightmare I've made up for myself. You're just a figment trying to give me doubts. Repeating some rubbish I overheard somewhere."

"I almost wish that were so. My kind, as you like to refer, can be every bit as evil as a Death Eater. More even. Muggles have a history rich in atrocity that might even make Voldemort pause. Or it should, if he's half a brain in his ugly head."

His eyes are wide as he regards her and finds himself really considering what she's said. "Then maybe he has the right of it after all. What are you arguing exactly, Granger? The Dark Lord must be defeated so muggles can be left alone to destroy the fucking planet and kill us all?!"

"Not at all. The 'Dark Lord' as you insist on calling him, must be defeated so muggles don't take notice. You want to know what a world looks like where he wins? You think he'll be the king of some beautiful Camelot where the muggles serve and you live in a castle in the sky?"

This time Draco knows not even to bother trying to speak. His imagined Hermione Granger likes to hear herself rant even more than the real one. Her questions seem, more often than not, to be quite rhetorical.

"If Voldemort wins this war, the whole of the world is going to crash down on his head. If we're lucky, the Wizarding communities across the world will simply stomp in here and assassinate him, probably taking most of his ranks along as collateral damage. Of course I'll be dead by then but you might be caught in that crossfire regardless. And if we are really unlucky? Muggles will take notice. I'm telling you now they will unilaterally murder every witch and wizard they find until they think the threat is averted. Your way of life, the way all wizards live, will be eradicated. They won't sneak in and try to take out the leader. They will destroy everything. Diagon Alley, Hogsmead, this school... all razed to the ground. To say the population would be decimated would be grossly inaccurate. We'd be so lucky as to only lose ten percent. And you don't even want to _think_ on what will become of those left behind. Probably put you all in concentration camps or make magic illegal, punishable by death, or make all wizards some kind of wards of the state that are forced to do magic for the greater populace or-"

"You've put a lot of thought into this," he interjects.

Hermione rolls her eyes. "Of course I have. As you love to point out unkindly, that's kind of what I do." She surprises him with a grin and self-deprecating shrug.

She's cute when she grins.

He shakes that thought right off and returns to the topic at hand. "It seems like it's just a matter of time then, for all of us. What do you think will happen with the muggles find out about us, even if there isn't a war? And it seems they will find out eventually don't you think? The planet's not that big, Granger."

"No it's not. But if and when our worlds ever do mesh completely, I'd rather it be civilly, not with the muggles already thinking we're all unhinged following a despot with no nose and a snake fetish."

Draco snorts. She certainly has a way of cutting to the quick. Or is this his own subconscious opinions? Dangerous opinions indeed. Surely he can't actually believe all these things. All these terrible stories about the strength of muggles. He may not be the zealot he's supposed to be, but he can't believe that even deep down he's done such a ridiculous one-eighty.

He begins to say just that: To tell her she can stop voicing his internal monologue. Then the dream comes to a fast end just as the last and he is back in the Room, staring at the cabinet amidst endless other junk.

With a sigh, he rises and charms his clothes pressed, readying himself for another day of shuttered expression and closing his mind to anything but the task at hand.

 **A/N**

 **Thanks for the faves and follows so far! Since I have quite a bit of this written I thought I'd go with a more aggressive update schedule. At least until I catch up with myself! I anticipate this will be between 15-20 chapters. I have about 10 written. Reviews are beautiful. Please do me the honor!**


	3. Chapter 3

The third dream is slight departure from the first two. Draco is in his second week into term. He had spent the weekend away from the Room entirely having needed a break from staring at the ever-frustrating and stressful cabinet. So for three nights, he had slept in his dorm. His roommates had given him all levels of hell. Those who knew he had been disappearing on the Dark Lord's orders thought he was being negligent. Those who did not assumed his witch of choice had kicked him out of whatever hide-away they'd found.

Those nights, back in his familiar green and black sheets, had been oddly restless. One would think, having mundane dreams interspersed with deep dreamless sleep would have been just what his overactive mind needed. Instead he woke feeling a little more empty than the days before.

Now, once again sleeping in the Room, he is walking the grounds of Malfoy Manor, watching their albino peacocks strut across the path as an autumn sky shines down. He feels wonderfully alive. He already knows it's a dream, having become quickly accustomed to the realistic quality, yet oddly too-bright color and echoing sound. Everything is just a little too sharp to be real life.

Even though he stalks the gardens of his ancestral home, and though she would likely be killed on site at the current atmosphere of the manor, he is completely nonplussed to find Granger sitting on a stone bench, gazing into his mother's koi pond. He'd never admit even to himself that he's a little relieved to see her.

"Granger," he greets with a slight nod and little fan fair. His life is too trying to come into dreams and keep being combative.

She looks up, squinting a little against the sun. Her nose wrinkles in what he could only describe as cute, much more so than Pansy's sad attempts, and chastises himself for it all the same. "Good evening, Malfoy."

He looks around mockingly. "Seems pretty sunny for evening, Princess."

She shrugs, "We both know that it's night time. This is a dream and obviously on a different schedule than the real world. Why pretend?"

Draco surprises them both when he simply flops down on the bench next to her, his hips mere inches away from brushing hers. He throws his arm on the back of the seat and watches her stiffen as if uncomfortable. He rolls his eyes and chides her, "Come now, no reason to be shy. You're here for me anyway. A need to fulfill perhaps?" A smirk on his lips, he wriggles his brow suggestively at her.

He has decided, after a few nights away, these dreams are too unique to not be special. They must be an effect of this Room. The intrinsic knowledge of muggles, the spot on replication of Hermione Granger… This is a result of sleeping in a place that is a nearly sentient part of a magic castle, designed to give you what you need. What you _require_.

"Don't be ridiculous." He watches her stand and primly wipes imaginary dust from her fitted muggle trousers. 'Genes' he believes they are called, having overheard from Tracy Davis. "I guarantee there is no need of mine you could ever fill, real or imagined."

"Who said anything about your needs? I meant mine."

"In that, I'm sure Pansy Parkinson will be more than happy to oblige you," she sniffs back.

"If that were the case, she'd be in a dream with me but she's not. You're what I need apparently, Granger. The Room tends to be relatively infallible in that regard."

"The Room?"

"Come-and-Go... or 'of Requirement'... whatever the Gryffindors call it these days."

She ponders a moment, "The Room of Requirement can affect dreams? I've not read anything like that in my research of Hogwarts."

"Well not everything is in _Hogwarts: A History_ you know," he scoffs "Maybe branch out a bit."

She speaks deliberately as if he might be a bit daft, "I think we are both aware I read much more than one book, Malfoy."

She looks around their surroundings and seems to muse to herself, "This is a beautiful dream though, if I'm honest. Much more enjoyable than the black lake."

"Of course it is. Malfoy Manor has a centuries-old tradition of being one of the finest locations in wizarding society."

She gapes at him. "This is your _house_?!" Taking another quick sweep she is mumbling to herself, "how would it even know what this looks like? Your description..?"

"More like my back garden actually," he interrupts her musings. "The actual house," he points into the distance, up a beautifully kept stone path and past a plethora of perfectly trimmed hedges and trees, "is up that way. Impressed, yes? Though I don't think I've made my family's status much of a secret."

"Well no, you've not. But I'm not sure I believe this is completely accurate and not dream enhanced. I find people that brag about things too much tend to be compensating. Like men who constantly talk about sex. Those who have something in abundance tend to not be so enchanted by the thing in question."

"Only you could reference sex and make it so clinical. Or is that your way of... _compensating_."

He watches her cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink and she opens her mouth as if to retort. Instead she turns her head away and mutters "well you don't hear me bragging about my exploits is all I will say."

His eyes widen a bit. "Is that to imply you're…versed in the topic?"

Hermione makes a slicing motion with her hand and says defiantly, "Stop there. We are not exploring this conversation, I don't care if it is a dream. Even a Room needs boundaries."

He laughs heartily at that, a true and sincere sound he hasn't heard from his own mouth in months. Possibly years. "So the Slytherin nicknames are inappropriate are they? Golden Girl Hermione Granger, let it be said, can no longer be known as Miss Iron Knickers."

"That's very disrepec-"

"Granny-panties Gryffindor," he interrupts.

"What a childish-"

"The Frigidaire?"

"Oh come _on_! You don't even know what that means."

"Sure I do," he grins. "Some cold muggle contraption for keeping food. Runs on lektricity."

She just glares back now and he grins wider. "You're fun."

"Well I'm super glad you're enjoying yourself, Malfoy. I for one do not like the turn of this at all."

He cocks his head and considers her. "I wonder if _that's_ why your here."

Hermione sighs as if exhausted already by what he's about to say. She pinches the bridge of her petite freckled nose and squints her eyes closed before asking, "And why is that precisely?"

"To be…fun. If there's anything I need this year it's something decidedly less life-threatening than real life. The Room must know that."

"Life-threatening? Please. _My_ life is in peril but you're safe as houses."

"Think so do you. Maybe you _don't_ know everything then. I've told you before, my life is in much more immediate danger than yours, Granger. From the Dark Lord if I fail to impress or from the order if I succeed. You could be fine if you'd just stay out of the way."

"Stay out of the... are you serious?!" Draco winces a bit at the screeching quality of her voice. "I can't stay out of it, you git! I'm a muggleborn as you are clearly aware. I _have_ to join this fight or my life is forfeit anyway."

"Is that why then? Not because it's the right thing to do but just because you're a mudblood and don't have a choice?" Draco isn't entirely sure why but the notion that Granger isn't simply a champion of light but just a witch trying to survive unsettles him. If there is anything he wants to feel right now it's that there is a right side, working to fix the mess the Dark Lord is making. Working toward peace and love and rainbows and kittens because it's the _right thing to do_.

"I'd think you'd learn not to call me that. I could break your nose again if you need reminding." Her voice is frosty with barely controlled anger.

"I don't see why the word bothers you so much. It's what you are after all," he says flippantly.

"No, what I am is a witch born of muggles. What that word implies is that I'm beneath you and unworthy and I'm _not_ , Malfoy! I'm as capable as any pureblood. More than most I'd wager. Care to see me put my abilities against Parkinson? Zabini? That vapid Greengrass girl?"

"It's not about ability, Granger, not really." Draco sighs at himself for the waste of time of having a philosophical debate with a fucking Room. Maybe a castle (he's not quite decided yet if there might be some magical signature of Hogwarts personified here). "You want to know why purebloods hate you? You want to know why they are clamoring around an insane snake-monster? Because mudbloods don't belong here. They're strange and disrespectful. They scoff at the old ways and try to infect our lives with their garish culture and uncouth lifestyles. I'm fully aware Hermione Granger can cast spells. But that's not the point."

His voice rises as he finally voices his own fears and prejudice in a way he never has. It has always been enough to just have faith in his father and their beliefs. He's about to hit the heart of it.

"We're fucking _scared_ of you and what you bring. Scared and disgusted. You're like an infection and you could destroy us, bringing the muggle world down on us. If we aren't destroyed out right as you so beautifully described in the last dream, you will at least destroy our culture. And no, Granger, I'm not necessarily saying it will be _you_ who does it, but one of the greater 'you'. Some mudblood someday will fuck up and reveal us for good or worm their way into the ministry and turn us into an extension of the muggle world. Billions of them, crawling the planet and killing each other with war and destruction. I _like_ my world, Granger. I can hate muggles because I like what I have and I've seen enough of them to know they won't preserve it."

Hermione stares at him with wide eyes and, he's both gratified and somewhat horrified to see, tears in the corners of her large expressive orbs. "I love this world too, Malfoy," she says quietly. "I don't see how any witch or wizard could ever want to destroy this life. _Especially_ muggleborns. You can't imagine what we see here. We're enchanted by it. It's like a fantasy."

"Selectively," he suggests.

She looks confused and takes a moment to wipe her eyes as subtly as she can.

"You're _selectively_ enchanted. You think I don't know what you think of Divination?" She starts to reply and he holds up his hand. "Don't tell me it's because Tralawny is a fraud either. You don't just march around talking about how barmy the instructor is, you have made more than clear what you feel about the subject at large."

"And you have so much faith in fortune-telling then?"

"Right there. That's why we call you mudblood not muggleborn. You call it fortune-telling to mock it because that word might mean generally the same thing but you can insinuate all your distaste for it. I'll call you muggleborn if you like but it doesn't mean I'm not terrified of you. Terrified enough to be angry. Terrified enough to understand how my father got us roped into this fucking war."

"He…really expects you to be a part of it?"

He thinks about the mark on his arm: The skull and snake, writhing on his skin. "Make no mistake, the Dark Lord will kill me as fast as you if I don't live up to his expectations. I'm fucked either way. Either I live under his thumb, letting his senior followers practice dark curses on me for fun, or I wait for the muggle world to come down on my head or my childrens' heads because, as we've discussed, this Balance. Can't. Last."

She seems to still be reeling from the revelation he plans to truly take a side in the war, then shakes her head and plows forward. "There's a flaw to that logic you know. Muggles and wizards have been interacting for centuries. There are a great number of half-bloods in the population and have been for as long as wizarding history has been kept. It can't last forever perhaps but we've no reason to think it would fall apart anytime soon. And besides, like it or not the muggle world influences a lot of things. Did you know British wizards didn't even wear trousers until well after the Roman Empire influenced the trend throughout Europe? You'd still be traipsing around in a skirt if wizards were as isolated as you pretend to want."

He gapes at her a moment then slowly shakes his head. "Did you… did you research so you could whip out that fun fact just in case of a muggleborn debate? Please don't tell me you actually just _know_ that."

She smirks at him. "I know a lot, Malfoy. I know it _all_ I believe by your own admission. Maybe you should take a moment to actually listen."

Rising from the stone bench, Hermione sweeps her gaze over the grounds and looks back down at him. "Maybe we should speak in real life. If the Room really believes you need me, why not explore that theory."

He rolls his eyes. "Yes great idea, Granger. I'll just prance over to your table at breakfast shall I? Ask Weaslebee to shove over so I can cuddle up close?"

"You're right. That's ridiculous. Imagine equally how ridiculous if I sauntered over to the Slytherin side. Maybe Parkinson and I can braid each other's hair and Nott can invite me to the spring fling."

"What's a spring-"

"Oh my God, nevermind. Not to rehash the culture divide but I'll at least grant you this: It is nice when you can speak with someone properly and they understand your references. I'm sure you find that infuriating amongst muggleborns just as much as I'm annoyed explaining every fourth word to Ron."

"Yes well that's because he's terribly thick. Nothing to do with heritage."

She snickers. He can't believe it she actually finds his jab at her best mate amusing. Of course she quickly stifles it and glares. "That's unkind. Ron is… Ron…he's very good at strategy."

Draco laughs at her sad attempt of deflection and soon she joins him as well. As his laughter tapers off he quips, "Remind me not to look to you for defense if we ever find ourselves on the same side of anything."

"Yes well it depends-"

She is cut off abruptly as Draco's wand emits an obnoxious repetitive buzz. He cracks his eyes open and looks around, getting his bearings. Rising slowly, he charms the wrinkles from his robes yet again and runs his hand through his hair, sweeping it off his face.

It's so easy to be caught up in these vivid dreams. She's so very… Granger-like. He's never experienced anything like this. The most startling realization being that he's truly enjoying her. Is this what she's really like? Sure their conversations are heated. But he can't say they aren't also intriguing. Thoughtful. This magical figment of the witch makes interesting points. Of course her depiction of muggles infiltrating their world didn't do much to deter his opinion that they are dangerous animals, but he still finds himself thinking deeper about the issue.

At the very least, if this is a realistic depiction, her intellect truly is wasted on Potter and Weasley. He struts out of the room feeling a little bit of pride for holding his own in their discussion and already looking forward to sleeping again.

 **A/N Reviews are inspiration and inspiration definitely helps keep the update pace. Please review because it's just lovely of you! Thanks for your responses so far! Hoping to update again tomorrow**


	4. Chapter 4

Draco opens his eyes to a clear blue sky, a lush canopy of foliage partially obstructing his view, and a rather cross looking Granger looking down at him.

"Well it's about time!"

Sitting up, he more fully takes in his surroundings and finds rolling hills and a thick tree line in the far distance. The fields before him are covered in tall grass and sparse with old gnarled trees, some fruit baring. It appears to be midday in the Room tonight.

He mumbles, "This is new," mostly to himself. He then addresses the witch in front of him with her arms crossed and her foot tapping. "About time for what exactly? I wasn't aware we had a schedule."

She huffs and uncrosses her arms. "I just don't like wandering around in a meadow by myself and then, when I do find you, you're sleeping like the dead."

"You were looking for me, Granger? I'm touched, truly." He bestows one of his more charming smirks that usually sends a girl all a-flutter with warm feelings. Granger, however, just rolls her eyes. Though her lip might have twitched up just slightly. Maybe.

There is a moment of quiet as they both look across the hills before he asks, "So why something like this? We've always been somewhere I know well."

"Oh because it's my birthday I'm sure," she answers flippantly, as if it's the most obvious piece of information in the world. "I used to come to a place like this for my birthday when I was little."

Draco looks through the luggage of his brain and the very tiny case in particular that holds "facts I know about Granger". Did he know this was her birthday? He supposes he was vaguely aware she was older than most of their peers by many months where as he is one of the younger set. And he had noticed her two cohorts had been mildly more attentive to her at breakfast. The mind is a remarkable thing though, lest he forget. Even an obscure fact in his subconscious could come forward in dreams.

Especially magical dreams in this remarkable Room.

"What is this place then?"

"My grandparents owned a large property in the country and my family used to bring me to spend the weekend. They thought the outdoors might suit me. Ride some horses, see some sun... I usually just snuck a book in my jumper and rode my favorite horse as far as I could to hide under some shade."

"That sounds exactly what I would have imagined you would do," he teases. A week ago, it might have carried some malice in his tone but he looks forward to these dreams too much now to ruin it by being nasty. If the Room would like him to have a nice evening not thinking about that damned cabinet then who is he to argue?

"Yes well, I don't imagine an eight year old Draco Malfoy was too fond of being outside in the sun either, if we can deduce by your complexion." She grins and then starts trudging away in the tall grass.

He starts to follow and quips back, "Why go outside when you have a perfectly lovely manor in which to lay about? Unless there's Quidditch to be played of course."

"Oh of course." He grins at her sarcasm and increases his pace just enough to catch her gait. His legs being substantially longer, it doesn't take much.

"So why don't you come anymore? Because of school?"

"Oh no, I haven't actually been here since I was ten. My grandmother passed and Grandfather sold the property to move closer to family."

"I'm sorry," is his automatic reply. It's just proper etiquette to offer condolences, though he wouldn't know her grandparents from Merlin so it's hard to be too sympathetic. What he is really focused on is the proper way she refers to her grandparents instead of some peasant nickname like "Nana" or "Grampy", much in the same way he was raised to show respect. Muggles can't all be impoverished savages he supposes. He wonders if this aspect of Granger is realistic as well. After all there's no reason to think the Room doesn't know her well enough after six years to make a viable doppelganger.

"Thank you. I've come to terms though I do still miss coming here. It was peaceful. I could probably use something like this these days, with everything happening."

Yes, he thinks, as could he. He supposes that's why the Room brought him here and is grateful to the magic responsible. "Thank you for sharing it with me," he tells her.

"Oh it was hardly my choice," she laughs. "But I suppose it is a nice way to spend a dream."

"Though with my company I'm sure you are excited whatever dreams may come?" He winks in her direction when she looks over and is rewarded with an amused smirk of her own.

"It beats nightmares about failing my Newts in my knickers."

He's tricked into a laugh and if his hand brushes hers because he's walking a bit closer, neither comments or moves further away.

Hermione stops suddenly and, with a quiet gasp, grabs his arm to pull him back. "Look," She breaths softly and points ahead of them.

In the distance three unicorns graze in the field of waving grass. It's a beautiful sight of course, unicorns being majestic beasts, but Draco is more in-tuned to the feeling of Granger's small hand wrapped around his upper arm and her body brushing against the side of his own.

With effort, he ignores the feeling of her tucked into his side, fitted like she belongs, and looks down at her with an air of haughty indifference.

"You've seen unicorns before, haven't you, Granger?"

"I- Well no. I've not. Only in photographs. The wizarding world doesn't exactly have zoological exhibits."

He wrinkles his nose. "Yes… your _'zoos'_ muggles are so fond of. Bit barbaric don't you think?"

"It's not meant to be. Maybe a hundred years ago but the animals are treated well in most places. It allows people to enjoy and respect parts of the world they couldn't otherwise. Not everyone has a magic Room to show them unicorns you know." She grins up at him.

"I feel safe to assume this never happened at your Grandfather's estate."

She laughs a little and releases his arm. He's a little disappointed at that. "No of course not. Replace them with horses and sure; my Grandparents always had a few horses. Even a small head of cattle for a short time when I was little." She turns around to go back the way they came. "Let's not disturb them."

He follows without hesitation but does voice what he feels is obvious. "You know they're not real. You're not really bothering anything."

Hermione shrugs and looks back toward him, squinting a little against the sun at his back. "I know but it just doesn't feel right to behave awfully just because it's not real. I could punch you in the face too but you don't see me doing that."

Draco snorts. "I'd like to see you try that again. You only got one go at that and I wasn't ready."

"Oh, so if I said 'hey, Malfoy, get ready for me to break your nose' you could dodge me? I imagine that's quite true, Mr. Seeker. You may have noticed I'm not exactly athletically inclined."

"You're fit enough," he says without thinking, meaning that she's in decent shape, but she blushes and looks away as she walks. He starts to say that no, that's not what he meant. He simply meant... healthy.

But then, is it so terrible? She _is_ pretty actually. And the pink in her cheeks suits her. Normally so proper and unattainable; more often than not clinical and straight-laced. Right now, with her head down looking at her feet and her hands clasped together, fidgeting, her innocence combined with her natural grace is almost devastating.

Spying a tree in the far distance, Draco is struck with a childish notion and allows himself to indulge. "Then again, always stuck in the library, you probably could use a little recreation. Let's see how fast you can reach that big Oak." He dashes forward and pauses only to be sure she's following.

He beats her of course, but when she falls down in the grass beside him, panting and flushed, he turns his head to watch as she laughs between gasps and they lay together for unknown time, watching the clouds move across the sky.

XXXX

Later, after he wakes, he's grateful when he leaves the room and finds no sign of Crabbe and Goyle. It must be later in the morning and they gave up waiting, assuming he couldn't get in too much trouble on his own when he emerged. When he enters the Great Hall, he sees them sitting to the far left of the Slythern table and makes a quick but hopefully subtle turn to the right to sit next to Theodore Nott.

"Didn't feel like the stimulating conversation of Tweedles Dee and Dum today?"

He looks at Nott briefly and grunts a general agreement.

Blaise Zabini plops down on his other side and rudely reaches across him for a plate of scones. "Morning, Drake. What brings you to the clever end of the table?"

"Your wit and charm obviously. Oh and table manners," he adds as an afterthought, watching Blaise reach across his plate yet again to steal the jam Draco had not had time to use.

His housemate beams at him, completely ignoring the sarcasm in his tone. "I _am_ rather charming. Ask anyone. Especially the girls." He winks and spreads the jam a little sloppily, spattering almost as much on the table as anywhere. A dollop falls on the sleeve of Draco's robe and Zabini makes a big show of wiping it away when Draco scowls at him.

"Lord Malfoy, I am most apologetic. Here, let me. I insist." His mocking voice carries as he dabs at the jam dramatically. Draco rolls his eyes at the antics only to have his gaze land back across the hall at _her_. She is snickering at Blaise with a little smile on her face. When her eyes meet his, her expression goes back to stone and she looks down at her plate with a grimace.

Blaise notices her as well. "See, even the mudblood thinks I'm adorable. Shame about her family; hot piece that one. I'd bet she'd be great for a dirty librarian fantasy."

Draco grips his fork tight and makes no reply to the comment, gritting his teeth in secret. Zabini speaks about her as crassly and offensive as Draco ever has and yet she flashes him that grin and laughs playfully.

He thinks to himself that this is _not_ what he needs.

What he needs is to make impossibly broken magic work so the Dark Lord doesn't literally torture him to death. He has no time for this ridiculous… whatever this is. Perhaps the Room had nothing to do with those dreams after all because he certainly doesn't _require_ this blasted headache.

He eats in quiet after that, ignoring Zabini and Nott's attempts to engage him in conversation until finally they end up just speaking to each other around his head.

When he makes his way out of the Hall, he chances one last look at Granger and finds her laughing at something Potter, or perhaps Weasley, has just said and hates the feeling of jealousy that rises within. Is the Room trying to kill him?

Or maybe she really is what he needs.

He recognizes that as a dangerous thought and pushes it aside. They are just fucking dreams. Maybe he's reading too much into it. Even if it is the Room, who says it's her specifically he needs. He vows tonight to fall asleep thinking of some long-legged, scantily clad, and utterly faceless witch to purge himself of the ridiculous image of Hermione Granger being anything other than Potter's sidekick _mudblood_. (He's starting to dislike the way the word sounds, even in his head.)

Except he doesn't think of anyone but her for the majority of the day and when he wakes into his next dream she is there again. Their conversation is light. No heavy-handed philosophy or hard questions. She's charming and sweet, their banter clever and entertaining. Silently, he is thanking the Room for bringing her back even when he couldn't admit she is what he needed. She's a gift, truly.

Or, more likely a siren, calling him to drown in the deep.

 **A/N Sorry for the delay! I spent last night watching election returns and stressing**

 **A big thank you as always for follows, faves, and reviews.**

 **To the anon that mentioned they should be stuck in the room together, this story isn't that but let me highly recommend "What the Room Requires" which is one of my favorite Dramione. And since I can't PM thanks to anons, thank you for that review and thanks to the other anon that enjoyed the start of the story.**

 **Averaging 6 reviews per chapter thus far. Can I make an impassioned plea to get that up into double digits? I love hearing from you!**


	5. Chapter 5

"I believe I've figured out why we're here."

Draco smirks at her, leaned up against the desk in the empty classroom the Room decided to give him today. "Because I fall asleep in the Room of Requirement and it deems me in need of bizarre dreams?"

She waves off the thought in annoyance. "Yes, yes, so you've said. Wait… You're _sleeping_ in the room?" She eyes him curiously. "Why?"

"It suits my needs," he says simply and with a touch of forced humor. Even to a figment, he's in no hurry to disclose too much.

She starts to pace in short paths up and down the front of the room, staring at the floor in front of her feet. She doesn't speak for a while, possibly pondering what he said. He expects more questions about the Room but instead when she speaks again she is back on the original topic.

"It's because of Harry." Draco frowns at this, that odd feeling that can't possibly be jealousy welling within, but he holds his tongue as she continues. "He's been so obsessed with you. I mean, you're almost all he talks about! So I start noticing and I think 'he's right, Draco doesn't look quite right'." She stops moving and looks at him, meeting his eyes. "Like this morning at breakfast. You hardly ate anything. Then you left and your body guards were right behind you, stuffing as much food in their mouths as they could hold in their grubby hands I might add. You looked pale and tired and... and... I don't know." She throws up her hands then points at him almost in accusation.

" _That_ must have something to do with these dreams. Harry has us all obsessing over you, staring at you in class and whispering with me and Ron. I find myself thinking someone needs to look out for you. I'm about ready to send an anonymous owl that just says 'For the love of Merlin, eat something'!"

The room is quiet a moment when finally Draco says, "I'm tired and pale, which thanks for making a bloke feel good, because every single night I'm worried about my parents and my safety. Then I go to sleep and have to wax philosophic with a fucking _swot_ the rest of the night."

She looks a little hurt. "No reason to be cruel. I'm the only one that seems to care either way so why take it out on me? Where are your bodyguards telling you to take care of yourself? Your friends? Where's the concern from Zabini, or Nott, or that simpering little twit Parkinson?"

Well she has a point there, he hates to admit. It appears the Room, and its Hermione-shaped personified voice, is the only... creature? entity?...presence? The only whatever you want to call it that has even noticed his obvious stress and fatigue.

In his silence her demeanor has changed and he looks back to find her studying him with what he would swear is concern. "You need to take care of yourself, Draco. If you didn't despise me so much in real life I might tell you myself but you're... well you're a mess. It doesn't seem like Slytherin takes care of their own quite as much as I'd been lead to believe," she grumbles in closing.

"We take care of our own, Granger. Just some of us have more to worry about than cleaning the vegetables from our plate and N.E.W.T. scores."

Her eyes narrow. "And what? You think that's all I have to worry about? Think I'm stressing over colors of lip gloss and how shiny to wear my shoes, do you? If you are implying, after all the conversations we've had, that I don't have a stake in this war then your either stupid or purposely being obtuse. Not only am I a mudblood, but I'm also close with Harry Potter. I have a target on my back bigger than you can even imagine!"

"I..." He remembers one of their first conversations, about what would happen if the Dark Lord wins. Fixing the cabinet is dire and he is afraid for his life and for his family. But what happens if he succeeds? It's like she had said, does he imagine he will go back to his predictable life of privilege and the world will just say: 'Well done, Death Eaters. Now that the mudbloods know their place they can go back to working service jobs and groveling like they aught.'

No. If they win, if _He_ wins, thousands will die. Horribly.

Did he really think Burbage was only killed so cruelly to make a point? That once the war was over Voldemort would be all mercy and common sense solutions? The wizarding world, the only world Draco knows, is about to be irrevocably changed, one way or another. If He wins, the world could fall into a madman's dystopian ruin. Or, just as likely, he could bring the whole of the muggle world crashing down upon them.

But then, if He loses, Draco's life, his family's very existence, is most likely forfeit. He'll be lucky to rot in Azkaban for what he's about to do.

Draco's shoulders sag and he slides down the wall so he is sitting on the floor, his legs stretched in front of him.

And even if he still fully believed his elitest upbringing, even when he was proud to call this unique girl 'mudblood', to sneer at her and bully her and ignore the truth of her brilliance and her beauty, even then did he actually want to see her come to harm? He knows the answer now is a resounding 'no'. He doesn't want to kill anyone. He doesn't want to kill Dumbledore or let Death Eaters take over his school... his home. He doesn't want to see Granger's stunning brown eyes turned lifeless or hear her scream in terror. He doesn't want his Father to bow and simper to the snake who set up camp in his ancestral home. He doesn't want his Mother demeaned, forced to play hostess and servant to cruel monsters in her own house. He doesn't really want any of this.

Draco doesn't know exactly when his head bowed or when the tears slid down his cheeks. He's not entirely certain when Hermione moved across the room. All he knows is now she is on the floor, her hip pressed against him and her hand in his, soothing with a gentle touch and no words. They don't speak anything more that night but as he feels himself begin to wake he looks to her as if to say goodbye, only to find her face closer to his. Her eyes search him a moment before she leans up and places a soft kiss, barely a brush of her lips, at the corner of his mouth.

He wakes with wet cheeks and his hand reaching out to a girl who's never really there.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After over a month into term, having had dreams in the Room every night he slept there, Draco has normal dreams for three nights and he's not sure why. He slept in the Room after all but yet, no Granger. Not even a vivid dream starring someone else. He's in a foul mood when he wakes on the third morning and finds himself stomping through the castle to breakfast. He chews _at_ his food as if to attack it.

If indeed he has been dreaming of Granger because he needs her, or needs _someone_ , then that explains how wretched he feels now. Instead of being distracted by their debates and finding himself staring absent mindedly at her lips or her hair or her delicate hands, he is spending each evening stressing over the Vanishing Cabinet then dreaming about the Dark Lord.

His master is disappointed, growing impatient, if the missives from his Father are any indication. And indeed Draco has made virtually no progress. Granted he has months ahead of him to accomplish the task but at this moment, he thinks infinity might not be long enough.

Looking up across the Great Hall, he spies her. He's not sure if it is a subconscious effort but it seems each day she is seated directly across from him on the side of her house table that faces his. Sandwiched between her ridiculous cohorts, he watches as she chides Weasley for his table manners and looks at Potter disapprovingly over whatever it is he is whispering about.

 _Probably about me_ , he thinks. His Room-Granger had mentioned Potter's obsession. After which, Draco began to subtly watch him in return and did indeed notice scar-head's attention resting on him an alarming amount of the time. After catching him spying on the Express at the beginning of term, he must have subconsciously noticed his continued attentions.

Today though she seems a bit reserved by comparison. The she-Weasel is trying to drag her into a conversation, no doubt about something completely inane, and Granger does little more than nod politely and offer token smiles.

When the trio rise, Draco stuffs the last bite of scone in his mouth and stands as well. Slytherin shares potions with Gryffindor first period so there should be little reason for suspicion if he leaves right behind them. Really, he's just finding himself a little relieved to see the witch, even if _his_ witch and this one are separate. There is something calming about her. A normalcy perhaps. As long as there are Hermione Grangers in the world, nothing can seem as dire or hopeless as if she did not exist.

He walks close enough to overhear, though only just.

"I'm just tired," she's saying. "I've been doing a lot of research the last couple of weeks."

"Blimey, 'Mione, we're all of a month in. What could you possibly be researching?"

She doesn't answer quickly enough and Potter jumps in. "Are you sleeping? You know I'm not as brilliant as you are but even I know sleep is important for your health including your mind."

"Yes, yes I'm sleeping. A full six hours last night. I think it might be a bit of stress. Just worry about You-Know-Who and everything happening..."

The friends hush after that as they all seem to be thinking of the same topic, lost in their own imaginings.

 _So she's sleeping then_. There was a tiny piece of Draco that thought maybe, magic being an amazing thing, it really was Hermione Granger in his dreams. The real one. Perhaps if she hadn't been sleeping he could surmise that is why he's not seen her in dreams. He's oddly deflated to find out otherwise. Unfortunately being deflated leads simply to being angry and he increases his pace, shouldering through the trio, knocking both Weasley and Granger with his shoulders as he passes.

"Oi, Malfoy! Watchit!"

He throws a sneer over his shoulder and brushes imaginary dust from his robes. "You're right, I should be more careful not to touch your filthy robes. Not to mention whatever muggle infection I might catch from Granger."

He watches her take a breath and hold it before releasing it out her nose. He smirks at her, daring her to lose her control. Riling her up is _almost_ as fun as their heated debates and philosophical discussions.

"Now, now Mudblood, don't give me that look. I understand you can't help where you come from."

"Fuck you, Malfoy," she spits back. He's jarred and he's not alone. By the looks on their faces, Draco is fairly certain her friends aren't used to her lashing out like that either.

He quickly hides his surprise and smiles saccharine sweet. "No call for such language, Granger. Cursing is for the ill-bred and those that lack vocabulary after all."

Having reached the potions room at that, he turns from the group and slides through the door. The room is sparsely populated, being that they were some of the first to leave breakfast and he takes an empty seat at the back of the room. He stifles his grin as he watches them enter, Granger stomping and her wild hair swinging around her face. She virtually throws her books on the top of the desk and flings herself into the chair.

Potter and Weasley eye him, scowling their obvious ire, before taking the two seats at a desk just across the aisle from their friend.

Class starts normally enough. By the end however, Draco is intrigued by two things. First, Potter was able to brew a perfect potion, better than anyone else in class, even Granger. Secondly, his muggleborn sidekick seems furious at him for doing so. It's interesting, he thinks. She never really came across as the jealous type. Oh, she's competitive enough that's true. But to be angry at her closest friend? Does this have something to do with her wretched mood?

When she storms from the room at the end, he saunters out after her, shooting a look at Potter as he does. "Trouble in paradise then? Scorned by a mudblood. How embarrassing."

"I can't begin to tell you how little your opinion means to me, Malfoy." Draco sneers in response at Potter, watching as the black-haired prat follows like a dog in Granger's wake.

"What was that about?"

He turns to find Theo looking after the golden trio as well and he shrugs at him. "Who cares? I just like giving Potter a hard time."

"Just seems like you keep an eye on them a lot is all…"

"Drakie?"

He stifles an eye-roll and looks down at Pansy, raising an eyebrow as sign she has his attention. Internally, he's glad for the interruption before Nott said anything that might make him uncomfortable.

"You know it's a Hogsmead weekend. I was thinking we could go together. I'll take you to Honeyduke's. My treat." She bats her lashes and gives him a smile that he's known her long enough to know is fake. For just a moment he entertains the notion. Perhaps it would do him some good to find a distraction in the waking world instead of leaning on his dangerous fantasies as a crutch. But when he looks at her turned up nose, he misses freckles. Her sleek black hair is too perfect. Too kept. He wants the chaos and imperfections of his dream witch. She's bossy and messy and clumsy in all the right ways. Girls like Pansy, pureblooded little tarts with fake laughs and glamour charms are ruined for him now by the natural flaws that make Hermione the unique find that she is.

"I don't have time for childish things like that anymore. I have important things to do this weekend." He gives her a significant look, suggesting it is exactly what she imagines and he will be doing his Lord's bidding. "Sorry, Parkinson. Maybe Nott here would like to go."

Both Slytherins glare at him for that little suggestion. He tips an imaginary hat and saunters away, leaving them to deal with, and hopefully distract, each other.

 **A/N**

 **So originally this was two separate chapters but they were quite short so I combined. It reduces the number of chapters I have written ahead but I only have probably 2-4 chapters left to finish so I'm fairly confident I can keep up my schedule of, if not every day, at least every other or so. As always, much love to those who fave, follow, and review and thanks to guest Deedee and guest who mentioned enjoying the view of Draco's prejudice since I can't reply directly**


	6. Chapter 6

"You loathsome little ferret!"

Draco grins as Hermione tears into the Great Hall on an absolute rampage, "Hello, sweetheart. Missed me then?"

"Ugh!" She stomps in exasperation and Draco smiles even wider.

"What the bloody hell happened to 'I need you, Granger. The Room is infallible, Granger'?"

"I do need you, or at least I need someone, and the Room _is_ infallible."

"Then what was that before Potions today?" She screeches in that very Hermione way she has. The type of screech that almost only dogs can hear.

He shrugs in response, hopping down from the table where he had been sitting, swinging his legs, waiting patiently for the witch in question to arrive. "You're fun to rile up."

She pauses and looks at him carefully. "So you… enjoy being around me?"

"I enjoy getting your knickers in a twist if that's what you mean." Suddenly he feels a need to be a bit guarded and tries to infect his tone with absolute nonchalance.

It's her turn to grin, "You like me. That's why you acted out before class. You've barely spoken to any of us all year and suddenly you can't wait to torment us? You even called me mudblood to make sure to get a rise out of me."

He ponders if it would do any good to deny it. Either she's a figment of his own imagination or she's a part of the castle. He decides a half-truth as she would likely see through an outright lie. "There is an element of stress relief in our interactions."

"Well...," she starts slowly, "that's a lovely notion, but I'm never going to give you the time of day outside of these dreams if you behave that way. If Draco Malfoy really needs me, he's going to have to stop being such a complete git."

"Maybe I just need you here."

"Then this is a waste of time. Perhaps these dreams aren't so special after all. There is no mention of the Room of Requirement affecting dreams anywhere."

Draco has done a mild amount of research on the topic and come to that conclusion as far as he can tell. Without deeper research, he can't be sure if it's true. "I don't have time to think too hard on it, Granger. I really don't have time for any of this but something has to keep me sane this year. I guess that's what you're here for. To fight with, talk to, laugh with... whatever comes just as long as it's distracting."

"Why would you need distraction? Voldemort, I assume you are implying, but why you specifically? We all have something to fear."

"Yes well no one else has him sitting in their dining room, barking orders, so that's a bit of a difference."

"But you're a pureblood. That should keep your safe from him during the war. And then when he doesn't win, because mark my words he _will not_ , you're a minor. No way could the Wizengamot find you complicit for simply not going against your family."

"No," he says carefully, "not for that. Sadly there are responsibilities that come with being a pureblood and I will do my duty by my family."

She furrows her brows. "What, like taking the mark? Harry believes you're a Death Eater you know. I still can't believe you'd really be that stupid."

He shrugs, unable to deny it. Unable to assure her or himself he's made any smart choices of late. How can he argue having the right of it when he has been questioning his own decisions for months?

"What choice do I have when it comes down to it? My Father dragged me into this. What's done is done though and now I just have to do what I must to survive. If not for my sake, for Mother."

"And what _exactly_ have you been dragged into?"

"Something unforgiveable. Something I'd rather not do."

"Of course I'll likely fail," he adds quickly. "I think he _expects_ me to fail honestly. Probably watch with glee when I return to the manor in disgrace so he can enjoy torturing and killing me in front of my family. Chances are you won't have to worry yourself with my torment much longer."

"How can anyone follow him?" she whispers almost to herself. "I honestly don't understand. If he's as cruel as everyone says, how do so many fall under his spell?"

"No pun intended?" he quips.

She pauses a moment and then offers a lopsided grin in spite of herself. "Spell. Right. No pun, Malfoy."

It's such a pleasure to see her pretty smile again. It's becoming obvious he does enjoy her beyond antagonizing her. He also feels a little jolt when she grins at his comments or laughs at his dry remarks. Of course the real Hermione Granger probably has too large a stick up her arse to ever converse with him so freely. Always correcting her two cohorts and nagging them about their marks... he's probably better off with _her_ hating him and enjoying this dream Hermione as a companion instead. He would do well to stop confusing the two, always thinking of her in terms of a tangible Granger.

He realizes she's still waiting for an answer to her questions and hesitates, unsure himself. "He's... powerful. And charismatic when he wants to be. There's something about him, something that draws you in if you're not careful. I'm sure a muggleborn could never know. He wouldn't deign to speak to you as anything more than a lamb before the slaughter. He has a way of getting under your skin though, and deeply in your head."

"Like...Occlumency? I've been lead to believe that can be quite painful, being invaded like that."

"It can. But not necessarily. It's like sex," and with that he sneers lecherously, trying to shake up the heavy tone of the conversation. "It doesn't have to hurt if you don't fight it."

Hermione rolls her eyes at him then fixes him with a playful stare, "I'd never had taken you for the type, Malfoy. Then again, I'm given to understand Tom Riddle was a _very_ handsome man in his youth."

"No, you were correct with the first, that's not my type. Now you, Hermione Granger in dreams, _you_ could give a bloke pause."

She blushes pink. "I don't think Draco Malfoy agrees with you when he's awake."

Draco cocks his head and regards her. "Maybe I just don't know what to do with misplaced attraction. After all, what good do you suppose it would do either of us to explore that particular truth? You're a pretty girl, you know. But you're a know-it-all goody two shoes that wouldn't spare me a glance if I was marching in a parade for muggleborn rights wearing one of your hand-knitted elf hats. Not to mention your two thick bodyguards would be on me like black on Snape's robes for looking at you. Then of course there's my family and what they would likely do to keep me from lowering myself and then, as if all that's not enough, I have the darkest wizard of the century playing houseguest and sitting in my parlor wearing a python like a bloody scarf."

"So not _that_ pretty then." She says dryly.

He's tricked into a laugh and she chuckles softly in return. "Almost, Granger. Almost."

The air feels thick with a pleasant tension when finally, Hermione walks up to the dais where the instructor's sit at meals and flings herself into Snape's chair.

"What are you doing now?"

"I always wondered what it would be like to sit here. I mean, Snape would die if anyone sat in his chair. He seems the type to use a disinfectant spell before grasping a door knob. But who knows, when all of this is over, maybe I'll be a potions professor someday."

Draco snorts and walks towards her around the head table. She has propped both feet in front of her. He flings her right leg off the table to make room for himself so he can perch in front of her. If she's nervous at his proximity, she doesn't show it, only mild annoyance at losing her foot rest. "Not likely to happen. Why, anyway? Is that something you dream about? Pretty common goal for the brightest witch at Hogwarts. I figure you'd see yourself as Minister of Magic or something."

"I think being the potions professor is very prestigious. Think Slughorn will be here that long do you?"

He shakes his head. "Not really. I just don't see them giving the position to a muggleborn."

"And why the hell not?!" She bristles, indignant. Such a little spitfire, his dream witch.

"No reason to get in such a snit. It's just something that isn't done. Look at the staff. How many muggleborns do you see? Even the Muggle Studies professor."

"I... that is... maybe they just haven't been interested. Or qualified."

He shrugs, "Perhaps that's the Board of Governors opinion: That purebloods are more qualified, being born to magic. That muggles might be able to learn enough to play at our culture but not enough to teach. Maybe, even Dumbledore agrees. Haven't you ever wondered why so few muggleborns have positions here? At the ministry? Wizegamot? It's not just the sacred twenty-eight that look down on your heritage you know. The wizarding world at large believes in blood purity at its core."

"Is that why Tom Riddle has such an easy time of it? Just playing up the fears that were already there? Using blood purity to trick followers to his side?"

"Merely stating observations, Granger." With that he plucks her other foot off the table and drops it to the floor.

"Hey!"

"Please. It's unsanitary. What would your mother think?"

She smirks a little at that, a soft giggle escaping. "You're right. She would be appalled. I was once grounded from the telly for leaving a drinking glass sitting on her favorite antique side table. It left a ring." She cants her head. "Now that I think about it, I bet I could spell that out for her now."

"Is the telly that moving image contraption muggleborns are always on about?"

She nods in confirmation and smiles warmly. "When this is all over, if you ever start being nice to me outside of dreams, maybe I'll show you one."

He offers an inelegant snort. "No thank you. I may not be in favour of the wholesale slaughter of muggleborns but I'm still quite happy being a wizard instead of a muggle."

"You'll still be a wizard you know. It would be like..." She thinks for a moment, rolling her eyes to the ceiling as if the answers might fall from the charmed stars. "Think of it like visiting France. It's lovely to go there. Enjoy their food, listen to their beautiful language… but you'd still be happy to return to England. To be home. Doesn't mean you couldn't appreciate and enjoy their culture."

"So muggle telly is the equivalent of an éclair?" He asks with somewhat affectionate sarcasm.

She snickers and replies, "Sure, or a baguette. Whatever you like. I just wish purebloods could understand that. You can prefer your way of life, no one is asking you to 'turn muggle'. I just don't see why there has to be so much... animosity."

"I told you, there's more to it than that. It's fear as much as superiority. If French people still put Brits on their guillotines, I bet you'd have a strong distaste for eclairs."

"It's... it's a valid argument," she concedes. He's shocked to hear her acquiesce. "I mean, I think still Death Eaters by and large are violent, evil, murdering, vile, rapist, bastards... no offence... but I can see why the pureblood families are so insular."

He considers her, meeting her gaze, and answers slowly. "And I can see... from the perspective of a muggleborn... how it might seem archaic, the way we hide in the shadows and cling to the old ways. It's not of course," he goes on quickly. "Archaic that is. The old ways are tradition. They are the heart of who we are as wizards and witches. But I don't think you're really the kind of which who would want to destroy the old magics. You'd probably be fascinated if you realized how much has been sanitized by the ministry in the last few centuries. You might even disagree with some of the restrictions. Problem is, that's one type of muggleborn and somewhere is another type that thinks the 'telly' is better than a portrait and 'tea shirts' and 'genes' are more attractive than robes and it doesn't take much for that person to think they know better and would just want to combine everything. The larger culture will always consume the smaller in that case. Our ways would end up translated to novelty gifts and Weasley product birthday parties."

The room is slowly prying his own beliefs out of his head and it feels good to both justify but also separate himself from the monster wreaking havoc on their world.

"It seems like if Death Eaters and The Order could have this conversation we could skip this whole messy war business altogether," she says cheekily and he smiles down at her as she smirks up at him.

It's... nice: This rapport they have. What he wouldn't give to have someone understand him like this. But, you know, someone with an actual pulse.

"You look fuzzy. I think the dream is ending." Draco looks down and sees he does indeed look 'fuzzy'.

"Farewell then, dream witch. Until tomorrow-"

"-night." He finishes the sentence as a barely coherent mumble to a cavernous room. Picking himself off the floor, Draco saunters out of the Room to grab some breakfast, whistling a little as he goes.

 **A/N I've had such lovely reviews today including some great comments from anon readers. Thank you for those and also for the reviews on my other stories to the anon who said they are reading my list of dramione works. I'm thrilled with how this has been received, exploring a grey-hat Draco but without turning his prejudiced character completely on its head immediately. I'm grateful for all of you coming along with me!**


	7. Chapter 7

Draco feels a different level of discontent as he watches the elegant barn owl approach.

It's been weeks and he is no closer to fixing the cabinet than he was the first night. He still makes a show of it, going every night and taking various random books and potions and parchments. He gives the impression he is making progress on the vague task from his Master to the other students in his house.

The truth is, Draco goes each night and stares, forlorn, at the cabinet for a while. Then he tries some half-hearted experiments that he doesn't expect in the slightest to work. Finally, he settles in, tucking one arm under his cheek and covering himself with some transfigured blanket (usually starting as a cloak or pants or some other fabric he's found in the Room).

Then he's in dreams and he sees her. The past two weeks have been increasingly enjoyable. She's kind but also fiery. She's feminine but strong. Clever but inquisitive. He's never known anyone like her in real life. Is it possible to have feelings for a Room? For magic itself?

He has been stupid, he knows. The hangman's noose is poised over his head. The expiration date of his life is moving steadily closer, looming a mere few months away. Seeing his Mother's owl, rather than the imposing Great Grey his father prefers, gives him immediate pause. On the exterior, he is calm, even feigns a little delight at seeing a parchment from his mother. Inside, however, he is more than concerned. He feels a drop of sweat bead down his back as he takes the parchment and feeds a bit of bacon to the owl. "Thank you, Persephone." She offers him a disinterested hoot then takes back to the sky.

"What, no Honeydukes?" Draco looks up to see Theo looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"She hasn't sent me chocolates in years, Nott. I'm not a child. I'm sure she just misses me, only son and all."

Theo shrugs and goes back to his breakfast, losing interest as quickly as it came.

He looks back to the parchment and unrolls it, careful to bend his body forward to hide the script lest she say anything that might make things difficult for him. He has secrets that would displease Dark Lord loyalists, mostly regarding his own beliefs, as surely as he does secrets that would concern the Order.

His Mother though, of course, is clever, and says much while nothing at all.

 _My Dearest Draco_

 _How do you fair this term, my Dragon? I know school can be such a burden at times when there are so many other responsibilities that come with your family name. Though you rush to join the adult world, I encourage you to enjoy your time away, be a child just a little longer._

A warning? Don't rush his mission? Be in no hurry to return to the manor?

 _Your father and I have been entertaining much this autumn. Of course it is tiring to have houseguests as I'm sure you remember from our summer together. I long for a quiet day to myself but it would be rude not to oblige an old friend. I find myself accommodating many requests and am happy to do so for our guest. After all, I've not the responsibilities of you or your father so I have time aplenty to play hostess. It is difficult at times, with so many guests coming and going, to know where to house them all. The manor is of great expanse, but even accommodations this luxurious have limitations eventually._

The dungeons, she must mean. "Coming and going" does not sound very positive for those that have been imprisoned either. He assumes this means a large amount of muggles, muggleborns, and blood traitors have met their end in his home.

It makes him seethe with anger that this… _creature_ has so desecrated the noble house of his forefathers.

 _I do look forward to seeing you again. Please be well and enjoy this year. Education is so important after all. As much as I long to be near you, my dove, I encourage you to consider remaining during the holiday season. Prepare yourself for the adult world that looms ever near. Though I wish you could remain my sweet boy forever, at year's end it will be necessary for you to take steps to becoming the man you are destined to be._

His Mother never wanted the mark for him. She was never able to voice that of course. His father wouldn't hear of it. But Draco knew.

And the way she speaks of it now gives him no indication she feels any better of it than she had three months ago when they held his ceremony, forever branding him as a follower to a madman. It also seems she wants him to remain away for as long as he can. Perhaps she thinks something might change? If he can just steer clear of his home and the monsters within long enough that he might avoid the worst of it? Uncharacteristically positive for Narcissa Malfoy nee Black.

 _As always, I love you and wish you every happiness now and forever. Please don't concern yourself with your mother and don't spare a thought to return correspondence. I fear my own obligations will keep me a might preoccupied from writing often. Give your Godfather my regards. And do allow the man to dote a bit. He only worries for you out of respect for me._

 _With endless affection,_

 _Mother_

To say the message is cryptic would be an understatement. Though ladies of good breeding are often careful in the words they chose, his mother has always been her most free when it is only between the two of them. This letters sounds as though it's full of warning and concern. Is she being threatened while he is away? Mistreated?

Her mention of Snape is also puzzling. The man has hardly looked his way this year. Not that the man ever could really "dote" on anyone in Draco's imaginings, but for her to mention it is suspicious in its utter absurdity.

Draco's mind begins to run away with him throughout the day. He imagines his mother degraded in countless ways. Forced to suffer the leers and jeers of disgusting men like Fenrir Greyback and Antonin Dolohov. Surely Lucius wouldn't allow…

But then, Lucius allowed the same sick bastards to hold him down while that snake marked him with his disgusting symbol. Watched as Draco cried and screamed from the pain of it. He passed out in the middle, as he is told is typical during the process, and woke, not to his father's concerned face, but to a house elf mindlessly tending him. He didn't see Lucius for three days after that until one evening he stalked into the dining room as if he was still the king of his particular castle. As if he'd not sold out his family.

His mother wants him to stay as far away from the war as he can. Unfortunately, her words, dripping with love and hiding her fear, spur him into action. It's time to take his task more seriously.

XXXXX

He feels acute shame when he sees _her_ that night. He knows she's not real but somehow that doesn't help. Maybe because she's as much just a part of him as anything and he's ashamed of himself. He doesn't need anyone else to make him feel wretched. He spent the evening making a concerted effort on the cabinet and is both proud and filled with self loathing to admit he actually made some progress.

Hermione is sitting in an empty potions classroom looking at a book when he arrives. Somehow, waking into the dream in an abandoned corridor, he knew where she'd be. She is a like a beacon, always drawing him near.

She looks up as he enters and smiles at him. "I heard once you can't read in a dream. Something about the right side of your brain not working properly. But here I am reading and it makes total sense."

"Only Hermione Granger would find the ability to read to be an ultimate fantasy."

"Oh stop," she chides playfully. When did she become so playful?

"I received a message from my mother today."

"Ahh that's why the owl was different," she guesses. "Not that massive angry looking bird you usually have."

He nods. "My father's owl is the Great Grey. My mother has always preferred a smaller owl. More elegant, she says. Less ostentatious too."

Hermione snorts. "I've trouble believing there is anything too ostentatious for a Malfoy."

"Perhaps, but my mother is a Black and has impeccable taste. She knows when something is too much." He walks closer and pulls a chair to face where she is sitting. "So what is it," he nods toward the book.

"Muggle book. The Screwtape Letters. Sort of a satire on the corruptibility of man at the hands of our lesser demons."

"Just some light reading then," he teases, but it is half-hearted. He thinks it no coincidence his dream witch would be reading about corruption just as his own soul is being slowly blackened.

"I thought you'd be pleased it wasn't "Hogwarts: A History"", she snarks back with a grin and he answers her with a chuckle.

Placing the book carefully on the table in front of her, she takes a breath and asks, "So what was it? From your mother, I mean. You seemed unhappy afterwards."

He waves his hand as if it is of no concern. "Oh, you know the usual. 'I love you, Draco. There are monsters living in our house, Draco. Don't come home if you can avoid it, Draco'."

"I've no doubt she would keep you safe if she could. She's your mother, after all. No matter her beliefs, I would wager she'd protect you over anything."

He scowls as he considers that. "Yet here I sit, marked and terrified."

"I… you're marked? I'm sure Harry's wrong…"

He looks at her with what he knows is probably sorrow in his eyes, and lifts his sleeve just enough to give a hint of the snake and skull branded into his alabaster skin.

"That can't be true in real life… just here. A nightmare."

"Real life is the nightmare now, Princess."

Hermione reaches up and takes Draco's hand. Clasping it between them she studies his eyes with intense interest. "I wish I could help you. If these dreams are because you need me, why isn't there some clue what I could do for you?"

Draco looks back at her and absently rubs his thumb over her knuckles. "Hermione Granger would never be able to approach me. No one could be allowed to know I'd be willing to talk to her and even I would probably not believe the gesture genuine. Besides", he pulls his hands away and stands, approaching a window and gazing at the grounds, "I wouldn't deserve it if you even tried. The things I'm considering... I can't just wait around trying to find a way to... The Dark Lord will get impatient. _Is_ impatient if I'm interpreting my other dreams correctly. I have to try every method at my disposal or I'll be punished. "

"Your other dreams?" She has taken the spot next to him and is looking out on the snow covered grounds as well.

"What, you thought you were the only one capable of magical dreams?" _This Room has a rather high opinion of itself_ , he muses.

She snorts, "And here I thought I was special."

In the quiet of the room he says softly, "Oh you are, make no mistake."

There is a moment of quiet between them. Draco thinks he may have shocked her with the sincerity in his comment and then, "I met your friend Blaise you know. At professor Slughorn's dinner."

Surprise registers and he doesn't bother to hide the expression on his face. What's the point in hiding emotion here? "Blaise? Really? Trying to better yourself, starting with the company you keep?" He's his typical biting self but allows a little more mirth to show through. He means it though, one hundred percent. Compared to Potter and Weasley, she couldn't do much worse.

She huffs at him, "Well, he's no Cormac McLaggen if that's what you mean."

"Not what I meant at all actually. Who's Cormac McLaggen? That bloke who failed to beat Weasley for Keeper?"

"That's him. He's been... rather insistently trying to catch my attention."

Draco tilts his head, considering. "Yes, I'd noticed that. Got a bit of a wandering eye where you're concerned. You didn't seem to be terribly interested in eyeing him back."

Hermione rolls her eyes and leans back against the window, elbows on the stone sill. "Not at all. He's insufferable. Maybe more than you even," she winks. "Anyway, as I was saying, Blaise seems pleasant enough."

Draco frowns a little, a niggling streak of jealousy crawling down his neck. Ridiculous of course. The real Hermione probably hasn't even talked to Blaise. Then again... he had been giving her a once over at breakfast that other morning. "He seems many things, might even be pleasant, but I wouldn't trust him if I were you. He's slick when it comes to witches. But his opinions on your blood status might not be as progressive as he pretends."

"Oh as opposed to _your_ opinions? Regardless, that's sort of what I was expecting with him. He's a bit of a silver-tongue devil." She pauses in thought just long enough for Draco to think of a snappy come back regarding his opinions on her blood when she quickly throws out, "but he is _terribly_ handsome, you must've noticed. Don't you think?"

"Wha- No I bloody well don't think," he sputters at her and looks at her face to find her grinning. "Wait, are you... are you _teasing_ me?"

"Perhaps." She shrugs but grins ever wider. "You're cute when you're jealous."

"I'm no such thing," he pouts and looks away from her, staring resolutely across the room.

"Which? Cute? Or Jealous? I happen to think you're both."

His head turns back in her direction and she gives him a sly smile which he slowly returns. "You do, do you? About time you realized what all the other witches already knew."

"Yes, I have heard mutterings about your jealous streak now that you mention it..."

Draco chuckles at her. Rather than continue the back and forth, he steps into her personal space and brushes one knuckle down her cheek. "You've got my number I guess. Best stay away from Blaise then, lest you earn my ire."

She meets his gaze with her own wide eyes then her attention strays lower, to his lips if he's guessing. Can the Room be tempted?

"Why can't this be real?"

He realizes she's echoing his own thoughts. Well, of course she it. This Hermione _is_ his thoughts, after a fashion.

"What would happen if it was, do you think?" he asks softly in return.

In answer, Hermione reaches to his hand that has settled at her jaw, wrapping her own dainty fingers around his then turning her face inward. She pulls his hand close and drops a delicate kiss on his palm. "I'd be bold," she says, looking up once again. "You're different here. You're someone... someone I could like." She kisses his palm again, this time a more lingering touch, warm with slightly parted lips, and holds his gaze as she does. "Someone I could want," she adds.

Draco feels himself shiver then before he can stop himself, thrusts his hands deep into her curls and holds her head in place so he can crash his lips against hers. He registers her surprise but it vanishes quickly and her hands reach up to wrap around his forearms, gripping him tightly as she meets the kiss with everything she has. Her lips part even before his own and, if their tongues are in a proverbial battle, he concedes her the win.

He feels her body relax and lean towards his own until finally they are pushed against each other intimately. He lets one hand trail toward her jaw until he is cupping her face gently while never releasing the tight grip he has on her hair.

When they part, they breath heavily against each other, his forehead pressed down against hers, staring into each other's eyes. Her expression, he imagines, must mirror his own. There is trepidation mixed with unmistakable desire. Finally, he closes the small distance between them to nip just once more at her lips before releasing her and taking a step away.

Finally she smiles, "I bet you kiss better than Blaise."

He laughs a little. "I kiss the best, Granger. Certainly better than your experiences thus far."

Her expression changes to one of bemusement and she settles her hands on her hips. "And you're sure you know so much about my experiences are you?"

"Well sure. Krum of course. I'd wager he was your first kiss."

She rolls her eyes up a bit but nods. "Lucky guess."

"Guess? Please. He was eye-fucking you the moment he plodded into the castle."

She huffs and stomps a little, "Oh he was not. He was very... sweet actually."

"Of course I'm sure that was a short lived romance," he continues. "So fifth year you must've stayed close to home. Potter or Weasley are the obvious choices. But Potter spent his time besotted with Chang. Now he's always making eyes at she-Weasel. No, I bet Weasley was your second."

Hermione sniffs indignantly, "Well then you've already guessed wrong. I've never kissed Ronald. Likely never will," she adds with a mumble.

"Do I detect a little regret? Surely not... you can't have a thing for _him_."

"And why the hell not?" she barks. "He's my best friend. It would only be natural..."

"You can't be serious. _Weasley_? Are you daft, Granger?" Draco gapes at her. He thinks his mind must be making this up and then thinks back to the last couple of years. He first amazes himself that he has so many memories to pull from. He's been watching her more and for longer than he'd care to admit. A dangerous amount if the wrong people noticed him. Regardless, from those moments he does recall her looking at Weasley with those same star studded eyes that Potter gives the git's little sister. "You just... I can't believe you'd stoop so low. International Quidditch star for your first round of romance and then to settle for _that_?"

She looks mutinous and he almost regrets taking their teasing banter to a place that looks like she is sincerely angry. "Too poor for you I suppose? Too much of a blood-traitor? Well in case you've forgotten anyone who would sully themselves with dirty Hermione Granger has to be a blood-traitor doesn't he? _Mudblood_ and all."

So he went a little far apparently. This dream had been going so well, edging nearly into the realm of wank fantasy and he's gone and botched it. And for once, in her opinions of him and for all his other faults, that is truly not what he meant. He's not sure he can salvage anything tonight but decides to just answer with sincerity. "No, because he's stupid and lacks manners and uses you for homework or an ego boost when he needs it. Does he even indicate he knows you're interested? Does he give you anything back? Of course not because he's a tosser and you can do better. You _have_ done better in fact."

She is pensive, contemplating what he's said and chewing her bottom lip as she does. "I guess I never... he's my friend. I don't keep a tally of how much I give versus how much I get back."

"Maybe you should."

"Pfft. That's why you Slytherins don't really have friends. Allies and associates at best. Friendship shouldn't be about what you get out of it."

"No, it shouldn't _. You_ freely give so you're obviously a true friend. But is he?" Draco isn't sure when he became so sage but it's gratifying to see Hermione Granger visually concede him the point, even if it's not really her.

After a moment, she waves her hand as if to dismiss the entire conversation and smirks, "So are you stumped then? On my second kiss? I thought you knew me better than I would imagine."

He sighs as if exhausted by the whole thing and offers a smirk in return. "Probably just some nameless muggle. Not fair for me to guess a name."

"No, it wouldn't be fair," she allows, "but that particular vague answer would be my third kiss. My second, because you will never ever guess, was Adrian Pucey."

He starts. "There's no way Pucey laid a hand on Hermione Granger."

"Why? Because he's a pureblood? He was surprisingly less bigoted than your house is usually known to be."

"Oh I've no doubt. You have breasts and a pulse so you met his criteria. My disbelief has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you. You'd not let him within spitting distance less likely let him touch you."

"What makes you say that? I thought we agreed the Slytherin nicknames bemoaning my supposed virtue didn't apply." She frowns, obviously offended.

"Yes, well, I imagine you have standards haven't you? Pucey was, for lack of a better word, a complete prat. He was good for Quidditch and little else and I know you've no use for that."

She rolls her eyes as she responds, "I wasn't exactly into him for his mind you know." She blushes a little and Draco has a disturbing thought.

"Wait wait, did you and Pucey… I mean you didn't…"

"What… Oh! Oh no! We just, you know, kissed a bit. Just this one time. I think he was my walk on the wild side and I was… umm…"

"Forbidden fruit?" he supplies and she nods, still rosey cheeked. "Right then. I think that's enough of that topic."

"Why? Jealous? You don't want to hear about the nameless muggle?..." she teases and shoulder checks him lightly. He watches as she tucks a curl behind her ear and grins up at him.

He thinks he'd like to kiss her again.

Unfortunately that is when he wakes. He checks his pocket watch to find it's only four in the morning. Releasing a heavy sigh of frustration, he picks himself up off the floor and makes his way back to the dungeons.

 **A/N**

 **Thanks as always for the faves, follows, and reviews! Also a shout out to the anon who posted oodles of reviews on First They Came...**

 **Finally we've reached a first kiss with our dream pair. Love to hear your thoughts!**

 **Also, I've never mentioned this on a story but I have a tumblr now under the same name. I don't do much there yet, mostly follow my betters, but I'm there for comments and questions if you like!**


	8. Chapter 8

Draco's days begin to bleed together. But his nights... oh his nights are, each one, a treat: A special and unique experience in which he slowly becomes more infatuated with a fantasy of his own design. He does everything he can to enjoy them as if it's another life he gets to live. In his dreams he has stopped discussing Voldemort or pureblood philosophies or anything else pertaining to the inevitable war about to destroy his life. The real Granger would never allow such a thing, insatiable for knowledge that she is. But this Hermione allows him to set the tone. He only ever vaguely discussed his part in the plan, never giving detail regarding his task. In the past couple of weeks he's mentioned it absolutely not at all.

Instead, night after night he's... how to label what they have? If this were real he'd nearly say he's courting her. He has shown her his favorite places in dreams and sometimes she "shows" him aspects of her life. Does the Room know her enough to be giving him a true glimpse at Granger? Or is his mind merely extrapolating from his limited knowledge?

He's shown her his Grand Ballroom, his parent's chalet, the exclusive restaurant where he celebrated his Hogwarts letter, the massive stables where his mother procured his riding lessons along with nearly every other Pureblood child of high society. But also, there are simpler things. Aspects of a charmed childhood before the realities of near war: A park where he used to spend hours climbing bars and swinging from magically suspended ropes, his favorite book shop (off the beaten path in Diagon Alley and more quaint than that of which his father approves), the secondary kitchens in the manor where the house elves used to sneak him snacks after bedtime.

In turn, he has seen a muggle home full of strange devices that work because of Lektricity. Everything that magic can do is bastardized by these odd facsimiles. They keep things cold and show pictures that move and even brush your teeth. Draco is actually pretty proud of himself. Some of these things he thinks he may have heard discussed by muggleborns but still, to imagine it all in a home makes him feel particularly clever.

She also shows him muggle places from her own childhood much like his own: The little studio where a grumpy American woman taught her dance, a coffee shop where she used to read and sip cocoa while her father read the paper and downed gallons of coffee, the strange office where her parents do their bizarre "dentistry". He had heard tell that the Grangers tended to people's teeth but the images the Room conjures look absolutely barbaric. ("What the fuck, Granger? Why would a healer need something to drill holes in your skull?!")

Unfortunately the pressure of his expectations starts to take a toll. He has seen Him, Voldemort, speaking to him in dreams. Mostly whispers in the dark, but he knows they are more than simple nightmares. He has wondered after Draco's progress and is not pleased with the lack thereof on the cabinet. He has… _suggested_ … that Draco consider all possible avenues.

"You're broody today."

He looks up from where he is seated on the ground. There is a small stream that runs through the manor grounds. As a child, he came here to look at the small fish darting through the water and hunt for frogs and worms and other things that would delight a small boy but disgust his rigid parents. Draco finds that the more somber his moods, the more likely the Room is to bring him to his ancestral home. Hermione has been standing next to him for a few minutes and he hasn't so much as said "hello".

"I'm always broody."

She plops down beside him on the bank, mindless of the mud that will no doubt cling to her muggle shorts. She shoulder checks him and peers down into the water. "Not true, Malfoy. Not _always_. But you were moody yesterday now that you mention it and..." she pauses in thought and ticks off with her fingers,"...and the day before. No, two days before. I noticed that day we were at that amusement park."

"Oh, you mean 'deathtrap land'? Yes I remember," he scowls back.

She grins. "I bet in real life you'd love it. A roller coaster is sort of like a cross between a broom and the Hogwarts Express don't you think?"

"No I most certainly don't think. I think it's a cross between stupid and fucking reckless matter of fact."

Hermione rolls her eyes at him and goes back to her original point. "Anyway, you're broody. More than usual. And you've been that way for days."

"I have... I'm under a bit of stress."

She doesn't respond immediately and finally says, "You hadn't mentioned in a few weeks. I was hoping... I was sure it meant you didn't really have to… that you weren't..." She sighs in what sounds like frustration and maybe even a little resigned. He interrupts the quiet left in her wake.

"Nothing has changed. I was just... this is a refuge. Here...here I thought it could just be me and you. Me being myself and you being... I don't know. You're so accepting and... and _kind_. Nothing like real life would be." Draco picks up a smooth stone and tosses it into the stream, watching it sink slowly, parting a small school of fish as it falls.

"How do you know I wouldn't be like that in real life, if you gave me the chance?"

By the way of answer, he says, "I'm going to have to... I have a new plan."

He looks at her finally, having been stubbornly avoiding her face, avoiding that pull he feels to gaze into her brown eyes. "It won't work of course. Stupid to even believe... I probably won't make it out of this year alive but I certainly don't expect to succeed. I'm just not... he's so much more _powerful_ than me."

"Who? Voldemort?" she asks.

Draco laughs a little and answers, "Well, yes certainly _he_ is. But no I meant Dumbledore. How the fuck am I supposed to...Fuck! I'm as good as dead everyone probably knows it. I'm sure the Death Eaters are all laughing..."

"That's... what are you going to do?" Their conversation is hesitant, he notices. Stilted and filled with uncomfortable gaps. He doesn't like talking about this. Even if she isn't real, he's so ashamed. Even if she is just the Room, he doesn't want to admit what he's about to do. Especially the cabinet... Hogwarts herself would hate him if it knew what he was trying to do. Letting Voldemort's henchmen invade her; sadistic freaks tearing her apart.

So instead he shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. Won't work." He sounds petulant even to his own ears. A child playing at war, facing punishment of a man.

Draco takes a breath and resolves to enjoy his dreams again. After all, they are all he has these days. He stands and offers a hand to his curly haired witch, gracing her with a sincere smile. "Come on, no more brooding."

She is hesitant but accepts his help and takes his hand. "What should we do?"

Draco grins and starts to drag her across the grounds. "Let's go swimming?"

"What?! No, Draco, I don't even have a suit." She stops mid stride, snapping her hand away and resting her palms on her hips.

"Come on, Granger, just leave your knickers on. Only a dream after all." He watches the wheels turn in her head as he takes her hand and begins pulling her along once more.

"Alright fine but... I'm leaving my shirt on."

He scoffs at her and teases, "Where's my brave Gryffindor, hmm? It's a dream! Merlin, you're a prude."

"I am no such thing," she argues back. "Just because I'm not some... some... _exhibitionist,_ doesn't mean I'm a prude, Draco Malfoy." She rips her hands away again and begins to unclasp her robes, stomping in the direction of the now visible pool.

Draco is gleeful. He couldn't care less if it's just a dream. These Room visions are so realistic he's going to hold onto this as real memory for as long as he can. Smirking and more than a little turned on, he half jogs to catch up, loosening his tie as he goes.

His mouth goes dry when she reaches the water's edge and he sees her shimmy out of her shorts, leaving only a pair of white and blue striped knickers covering her rather adorable arse. Suddenly he's not feeling quite so confident, not nearly so bold. He's not the Casanova he pretends after all, having only enjoyed two sexual partners and a handful of playful kissing sessions besides. And then here is Hermione Granger. Dream though she may be, she's still this perfect package of good and light and absolution. He's struggled in their flirtations, imitating how he would talk to the real thing, not wanting to push her away or muck up the only good thing in his life. The Room has proven to follow his lead and sometimes that can lead to an unhappy, offended, or otherwise pissed off Granger. Realistic is a double edged sword.

And then she goes and strips her shirt off and she's fucking beautiful and he just doesn't know what to do with that.

She's all flawless skin and smooth curved back and trim waist he imagines he could almost completely palm with his large hands.

So he just stammers studpidly, "I-I thought you were leaving that on." She looks back and winks... bloody _winks_ at him before popping over the side into the water, disappearing below the surface.

When she comes back to the top she breaks the water like a magnificent creature of the sea, her slick hair falling down her back and showing off the brilliant smile stretched across her face. A few errant stands falling over her shoulder and sticking wetly to the swell of her breasts above her lace trimmed bra. She is his goddess and his fantasy and his siren and he will no longer complain if he drowns.

"I changed my mind. Who swims in a shirt anyway? Ridiculous."

He's staring at her as she gracefully treads water before she goads, "so are you coming in or was this a ploy to get me wet?"

Was that a double entendre? _Fuckety fuck, who_ cares.

Draco strips off his own stuffy button-up and unbuckles his trousers, dropping them to leave him in only his skivvies. He runs and cannonballs into the water, most likely splashing her terribly though of course he doesn't see.

When he comes back up the water is chopping in waves around him, disturbed by his rather graceless plummet. Hermione is close, closer than he anticipated and she's bobbing toward him all the while.

When she is within arms' reach she pauses, reaching to his forehead and wiping his hair back out of his eyes.

"Hi," she breathes sweetly.

Draco reaches up and takes the hand that has stalled near his face. "Hello, Beautiful." She blushes at the endearment and he pulls at her hand, tugging them closer together. His other hand slips under the water and rests at her waist, his thumb gently stroking the soft skin below her left breast.

He's kissed her before. It wouldn't be new. After their first passionate tryst they had enjoyed a few other small touches, light kisses, even one more intense session about five nights back, similar to their first. But now he's feeling hesitant. Not for lack of want, you understand. The guilt and stress are pulling him away, making him question that he has any business fantasizing about this girl. He doesn't deserve her, even in dreams.

But Draco is a weak man, he would tell you. All he knows is he wants her. Has done for a long time. Now she's looking at him with heat in her lidded eyes and a dangerous slight parting of her lips. Before he knows it they are chest to chest and he feels her pebbled tips through the silk of her bra brush against his skin.

"Hermione..." He's not sure what he would have said but it doesn't matter because this time she is the aggressor and her lips pillow his own and her tongue laps out at him playfully. He backs himself closer to the edge so he can brace himself against the wall. Positioned thus, he pulls her harder against him until she wraps her arms around his neck and her legs pull up around his waist. The water helps to keep her afloat, secured as she is clinging to him.

Draco drops one hand under her thigh to help hold her up while the other grips her jaw and his kiss becomes insistent. If he has any doubt she knows what she does to him, it's vanishes when he feels her grind against him and, rather than being shocked by what she finds there, groans against his mouth and shifts her hips just so. His length is nestled against her sex, only two thin layers of wet silk between them.

"...want you..." he mumbles against her mouth and his words draw another moan from her.

He thinks that's all the response he will get, resigns himself to a frustrating end to this particular dream and imagines himself wanking in the Room once he awakens. Instead, after a pause that felt long yet was probably no more than a matter of seconds, she breaks away to whisper back, "I'm yours" against his lips.

"Fuck." It sounds like permission. Could he be so blessed? She has returned to a deep kiss and he lets his hand wander so that he is gripping her arse instead of her thigh and pulls her harder against him, generating friction where they are nearly joined and pulling another moan from them both.

He's more than prepared to keep going, to be more aggressive, but he finds it unnecessary. He will have to keep up with _her_. Suddenly there is only one arm clinging to his neck and her other hand reaches down between them and her palm finds him straining against the inside of what little clothes he still wears. He feels himself twitch against the delicious pressure and thinks he might die right then. She hardly even gives him the chance to become accustomed to that much affection before she reaches in and pulls him free so she can better stroke him as they kiss.

He finds himself in a hurry after that. He carries her through the water to the shallow end and walks her up the marble steps until they are on a large patio near the back rose garden. She doesn't so much as pause in her rhythm on his shaft until he drops her onto a chaise lounge and, after kicking off his shorts completely, climbs on top of her. He pulls her bra down with one hand while the other reaches to remove her knickers.

She seems equally desperate. She is all gasps and moans and kicking her legs to help him remove the scrap of silk clinging at her knees.

He pulls away from her lips to worship her now exposed nipples and grinds slowly against her as he does. It's all he can do not to slam into her and find his release but fears if he moves too fast this will be over far too soon. It's been awhile and he's not sure he's ever been as turned on as he is right now.

"Draco,...hgn...fuck... _please_..."

Oh _Merlin_ , begging? His resolve breaks and he sheaths himself inside her without hesitation, reveling in the sigh she breathes, her soft hands clinging to his neck, pulling him closer. He doesn't break the kiss again as he thrusts and finally, after what he would probably consider an embarrassingly short time, he grunts against her and spills over the edge.

Their breathing is heavy and erratic and he collapses on top of her as gently as one can collapse.

"Why did we wait so long to do that," she muses. Draco barks out a laugh of joy and complete surprise.

"Well... we can certainly do it again soon," he grins against her cheek and feels her own smile stretch.

"Same time tomorrow?"

"Room willing..."

Draco didn't know you could sleep in a dream but he drifts off wet and warm and sated against his witch and wakes cold and alone amongst a pile of junk in the Room. Still, the smile lingers and for just one moment, he forgets what he's supposed to do, what he's supposed to be, and lays back with eyes closes, breathing and just happy to be alive.

 **A/N So it's much later than I intended to post tonight, especially after missing yesterday. I spent way too long this evening trying to catch up on Westworld (which by the way 'Holy Shit!') around the distractions of a four year old.**

 **I also spent a little time at lunch posting a quick one-shot that was just demanding to be written. It is MrBenzedrine inspired and came to me in the shower with obsessive fervor. If you have a moment and are interested, pop on over and drop me a review on that. It's inspired from a Drarry but of course, since it's me, it's Dramione through and through. :)**

 **As always thank you to all reviews including anons (especially the review-generous Stalker!anon lol) and big kisses to all faves and follows as well. Would love to hear from you this chapter of course. I love hearing your thoughts!**


	9. Chapter 9

Days pass in the Room and Draco spends countless hours with his witch. She is light and beauty and discovery. She is summer days during winter nights and sunshine devouring a cold moon. She is joy and excitement. She is distracting.

Perhaps too distracting. Perhaps that is why he makes such poor calculations regarding his task.

Draco is in the Slytherin dorms when the rumour hits his house about Katie Bell.

He hadn't meant for that, of course. Granted, he didn't exactly expect to succeed either. Dumbledore would surely be able to sniff out the dark curse on the necklace right?

It had been an admitted long shot; really nothing more than a stalling tactic. Just to show his heart is in the game, even if his heart has been distracted by something else entirely. When he Imperiused the girl and sent her on her way to deliver the package to their headmaster, he had hurried back to the castle and spent the rest of the day in the common room, making sure he is seen and acting as aloof and uninterested in the world around him as possible.

He played over and over in his head the way it would most likely go down. Katie delivering the necklace. Dumbledore, ever-present twinkle in his eye, realizing something wasn't quite right. An investigation into the piece and where it might have originated. His attempt at contrition to his parents as they tell him they appreciated his efforts but he had to be more careful, far more _clever_ , with the wily old wizard. The Dark Lord disappointed in dreams but urging him to return to his work on the cabinet and, with any luck at all, acknowledging his gumption.

Instead, the guilt is crushing. Far worse than the vague notion that he has been "up to something" the past weeks but now he has something truly evil on his conscience. He knew Bell, a little. She was a fierce chaser but a good sport and he respected her on the pitch as much as a rival can.

"They found her hanging in mid-air, screaming her fool head off!" Pansy is delighting in, if not the poor girl's fate, then at least her ability to share interesting gossip with her compatriots.

"Is she dead?" The callous question comes from Daphne Greengrass. Only half paying attention, she is leaned over her propped-up foot, painting her toes an electric green (the muggle way because she's rubbish at color charms).

"No," Pansy shakes her head. "They got her to Pomphrey, but they're not sure when she'll wake up. Transferring her to Mungo's in the morning if Bulstrode is to be believed."

"She's asleep?" Draco asks, feigning only a mild curiosity but thrilled to hear she survived. Touching the necklace should have been an instant death. The girl is lucky to be breathing at all.

Pansy waves her hand around. "Asleep. Unconscious. I don't know, something. Millie said she heard Bell was holding a cursed necklace."

Daphne snorts, "Necklace? Well that alone is suspicious. That witch wouldn't know an accessory from her own flat arse. Someone must have it out for her."

"Who do you suppose...? You-Know-Who maybe?" Theo has been scanning the collection of magazines in the bin next to the fireplace and flops down next to Daphne with a copy of _Which Broomstick_ in hand. She glares at him for the jostling effect he has, causing her to streak a green line across her toes.

Draco tries to deflect with his usual put-on arrogance accented by his signature sneer. "You think the Dark Lord is worried about hexing some half-blood bint?" He is sure to use Voldemort's Death Eater title of reverence to keep up appearances.

Theo is thoughtful before he answers, "Not necessarily but what if... what if she was just, you know, collateral damage? Wrong place, wrong time sort of thing."

Draco shrugs as if he could not possibly care less and falls into silent thought, pretending to become absorbed in the book in his lap. He turns the page after a moment to give the impression he's actually read any of it. Around him, the conversation morphs through class complaints and Professors' behaviors and Witch Weekly articles and finally settles on Theo flirting with Daphne and Pansy sulking, unbeknownst to both.

After what feels like a relatively safe amount of time, Draco leaves as casually as possible and makes his way to see the results of his sloppy handiwork. He's lucky Crabb and Goyle are serving detention and the biggest majority of his housemates are less interested in involving themselves in his goals.

Sneaking a look through the doorway, not daring to enter, Katie is pale and immobile, laid out stiff on one of the uncomfortable beds of the hospital wing. He can see that the rise and fall of her chest is even, if a little shallow, and her skin looks dark beneath her eyes. He notices her hand twitch once during the time that he stares before backing himself away and tearing down the hall to the Room. He paces in front of it but this time he doesn't ask for the mess of Hidden Things. He just wants a quiet room. He especially doesn't want to see Hermione Granger and is sure to emphasize that in his head. He can't face even a ghost of another person right now.

The Room provides him a bare-bones dormitory with white sheets, no windows, and dim light. He doesn't sleep, afraid of who might join him, but instead stares listlessly at his own hands for what must be hours. When dawn breaks, known to him only by the time on his pocket watch charmed to chime at the first rays of sun, he sneaks back into his own room in the dungeons. Silencing his bed and pulling the curtains so no one disturbs him he sneaks in a couple short hours of sleep before class.

He finishes the week and in fact many days after in much this same way, avoiding the cabinet, avoiding Hermione Granger, avoiding the Room, avoiding _Her_.

XXXXX

"Where the hell have you been? You've been gone for days!" Draco looks up from his table, seated outside at a small café his mother used to frequent when he was a boy. He'd be pulling at her sleeve, begging her to take him to a toy store or to look at Quidditch gear as she calmly sipped her café au lait. Narcissa Malfoy was never one to be hurried; never one to pander to anyone. He supposes those were different times when she could afford her pride.

He's been tracing the metalwork pattern of the table top, wondering if he's done the right thing by falling asleep in the Room.

"Granger," he greets her calmly, shuttering the trepidation from his face. Inside he is vibrating with nerves and fear and want.

She stops in front of his table and perches her hands on her hips. "Well?"

He looks down at her tapping foot and rewinds a moment to even remember what she asked. Draco shrugs and looks down the street, eerie in its emptiness. "I've been busy."

"I- why?" There is a beat and he doesn't know how to answer; then she asks, "Have I done something?"

He looks up to see her studying him, a look of concern on her face. "No," he answers simply, reassuring. "It's nothing you've done."

She moves around the table and pulls out the chair beside him, the legs scraping loudly on the stone. He winces at the screech of it and she looks sheepish, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Merlin, he's missed her. Even still, he's not sure he wants to face her.

He expected the Room to attack him immediately. He thought it would dig through his head until it found his guilt and then strangle him with it, turning his beautiful dream of Hermione into an accusing harpy. He anticipated it, maybe almost yearned for it. He is hungry for penance that might lead to grace.

Instead, she acts as though nothing has changed save his odd lack of appearance these last few nights.

After a moment she blushes and says, "I've missed you, you know."

Here's familiar ground for a pureblood princeling. He takes in his shy beauty and slips into a semblance of what would be his typical swagger. "Have you now? Then why are you sitting so far away?"

His witch blushes deeper when he pats his knee but she doesn't deny the challenge. She perches on his lap and wraps her arms around his neck. For just a moment this is all he is. There is no Katie Bell. No Dark Lord. Draco thinks if he could die in this room, he would happily spend eternity haunting the space, seeking out ghostly images of this Hermione Granger.

They come together on instinct, their lips meeting softly and his hands reaching around her to hold her closer. He pulls back and she lays her forehead against his, eyes closed and a small smile on her lips. His bravado morphs into sincerity and he whispers, "I've missed you too, Hermione. Gods, you can't know how much."

"Then why did you stay away?"

Her eyes are open now and he stares into them before his shame makes him look away. He shifts her so she is not quite as close, not quite as intimate. "I…I don't know. Didn't want to talk about what happened to Bell I suppose."

"Did-" She grips his face and turns him back to look at her. "Did you curse Katie?"

"No," he immediately denies. He did of course but not intentionally so it's more an omission of truth. "Why would I want to hurt Bell?"

Her eyes search his until finally she relaxes her hands, caressing his face instead of grasping it. "I'm sorry. Really. I know you wouldn't. I _know_ that… it's just you've been gone and you seemed so sad and that's right when you disappeared." She studies his face with such honest regret, such abject apology, that it hurts him.

Draco swallows the guilt and says, "It's alright. I wouldn't have any faith in me either."

She huffs but says back with a grin, "I've tons of faith in you! You're the one I keep having to argue with that you're not so bad."

The Room delves into his head every night to create this illusion of what he needs. What he wants. Why it allows him to lie to its face he can't imagine but he's grateful for it. "Would you like some coffee?"

She wrinkles her nose in that adorable way she has. "Never developed a taste for it. Tea maybe?"

He nods and signals to a motionless waiter with an eerily featureless face in this otherwise unpopulated world. He brings them exactly what they wanted without even being told. Hermione climbs off his lap and takes her seat so they can enjoy their drinks and indulge in conversation. The rest of the dream is spent like nothing has changed. Like he hasn't nearly murdered an innocent girl. Like he didn't just lie to the only good thing in his life.

Like this could just continue forever and he never has to go back to being the villain in this romance.

"I hear Cormac is taking you to Slughorn's little holiday soiree. I'm surprised you agreed." In fact, he was jealous when he heard and berated himself for once again staking any claim to the real Hermione Granger in his head. He's beginning to understand that if the Room is as realistic as it seems, Hermione might actually be this perfect for him in real life…if only he was someone else.

"Well, I didn't very well want to go alone. How pathetic would that look? I have enough trouble with everyone treating me like a social pariah as is."

"Yet you seem to regard him with distaste whenever I see you in the same vicinity."

She smirks at him. "Watching me that closely are you?"

He rolls his eyes. "It's a small school, Granger. We share meals and classes. It doesn't take any level of effort to see you often. And you've not answered my question."

"Oh right, about Cormac. Well… I was going to take Ronald."

Draco curls his lip but tries to at least partially reign in his disgust. "You don't still fancy him do you?"

"Not really but we're friends and I thought it would be fun."

"Not _really_?" He parrots back, waiting for clarification.

"Oh stop it. What am I supposed to do? Pine away for Draco Malfoy and bat my lashes when he shoves me around in corridors and calls me a mudblood? You're not allowed to be jealous."

He scowls at her answer. She didn't deny it. When he doesn't speak she huffs and says, "Fine, I'm not sure that I really fancy him anymore alright? I mean, I have for years but I'm finally seeing how ill-suited we are. Anyway, he's been a complete arse lately. I was going to take him but he irked me so I decided to take someone to irk him back."

"So you're going with McLaggen to make Weaslebee jealous… but you don't fancy him."

"I- well when you say it like that it sounds stupid," she pouts. He laughs and she joins him after only a moment.

They both take a sip of their drinks and consider each other in the tranquility of the quiet café.

"I wish I could go with you." She looks at him with those soulful dark eyes and he continues, "If things were different of course. I'd be more than pleased to escort you and stick it to Weasley. That's a win-win if ever I heard one."

She offers a soft smile, giving him a pass for the slight against her friend and clinging only to the original sentiment. "I'd love to be on your arm, Draco. At the very least, you'd make a very handsome date." She winks at him and he grins back.

"You do know McLaggen is going to try to get in your knickers."

She snorts. "Yes I know. I've heard he's bragging about being my first. Boy is he going to be disappointed."

"Just so we're clear, he'll be disappointed because you won't let him touch you, not because you're not a virgin in real life, right?"

She laughs again and takes his hand across the table. It's not lost on him she doesn't actually answer the question. "Don't worry, I won't let him near me. I'm the brightest witch in our class. I know how to read the less than honorable intentions of a teenage boy."

He quirks his eyebrows. "Oh yes? And what do you suppose my intentions are, Miss Granger?"

The devil himself couldn't match the sinful smile on her lips. Draco finds that taking her on top of a metal café table is difficult, but not at all as impossible as he would have guessed.

 **A/N**

 **Good morning, night, or afternoon, depending on your respective location. Many additional follows and faves today and nearly to hit 100 follows so thank all of you for those! I think I gave everyone a direct message for reviews but if I ever miss you, I apologize and there will always be additional gratitude mentioned here. Love to hear from you as always!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Warning: bit of lemon zest here. Not super graphic but just so you're aware! See you at the bottom with A/N!**

"So how was the party?"

Hermione looks up from the book in her lap. Tonight she is settled into an over-stuffed sofa in a cozy room. Bathed in the low light from the fireplace in front of her, she looks warm and comfortable in this dream when he arrives.

She snorts inelegantly at his question. "You should know. You were there after all."

Draco flops down beside her and drops a kiss on her head. "Not really. I mean I crashed for a moment but didn't really have a chance to enjoy myself. You looked gorgeous of course."

She blushes and looks back down at her book. "I'm sure you didn't even notice me. Occupied as you were with Filch and Snape."

"I always have time to notice you. Sometimes it feels like you're all I see," he whispers against her neck, nuzzling her and letting a hand creep up her leg.

"I bet you say that to all the witches," she teases.

"Hardly." The hand reaches beneath her skirt and tugs at the side of her knickers. "I'm completely besotted with you, you know."

Hermione lifts her bum, allowing him to pull the lacey garment down and then slides her arms around his neck. "You're eager this evening."

"I spent the entire day and night yesterday imagining that cretin McLaggen trying to get his hands on your silky skin."

"As if I'd let him." She pulls his head away from her neck and looks at his face. "I'm rather selective you see, about which boy is worth my time."

"Not so selective. You let Potter and Weasley hang around." He smirks and she swats at him but smiles in response.

"So what are your holiday plans?" He settles back and pulls her against him, happy to just be in her presence.

"Hmmm? Oh! I suppose I'm staying here. My parents often holiday in Paris. I could join them of course but I get the idea they wanted to spend some time alone. I'll just get a head start on next semester. Are you going home?"

He shifts a little uncomfortably. "No. You might remember my mother suggested I not return to the manor." He lets his usual confident smirk take over his face and gives her a once over. "So I guess I'll be seeing a lot of you then, Granger."

She surprises him by climbing into his lap, straddling him and running her hands through his hair. "I honestly can't think of a better way to spend the holidays."

She pulls her jumper over her head and unbuttons her white blouse, leaving her in nothing but a blue satin bra and her wool skirt spread over his lap. The Room version of this witch is getting bolder all the time, more often the initiator of their little trysts.

"You are the sexiest witch I've ever known." She blushes again as she often does at his attentions and he pulls her down to join their lips. He feels her press down against him and groans into her mouth.

"Can we try something new?"

Well that perks him right up. Draco looks at her in question and pushes a curl behind her ear. "What did you have in mind?"

"I thought maybe, like this. With me on top? Let me set the pace."

"Oh I like that idea very much." He licks his lips and settles back deeper into the sofa. "You're in charge, Granger. I'm not really surprised you like it that way, bossy witch that you are."

She scowls a little good naturedly but shifts to the side, off of his lap.

"Those will have to come off of course," she indicates his trousers.

He doesn't hesitate to lift himself and shimmy out of every stitch of clothing. He pulls her atop him once he is bare and feels her, ready and pressed against him. He'd nearly forgotten she was undressed beneath the skirt.

He shifts to impale her and she lifts above him. "Nuh uh… I'm in charge remember."

He'd forgotten that too. "Yes, Mistress."

She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. "No, don't do that. I'm not going to spank you or anything."

They both laugh and he pulls her down into another kiss. "Whatever you want. Anything. Anytime. You know I'm yours."

She reaches between them to guide him, to join them together. "Fuck, Hermione…"

She opens her eyes and locks onto him as she starts to move slowly. He is helpless under her gaze, unable to look away even if he wanted. The intensity is suffocating and he matches his breathing with her pace. First they are slow and methodic with Draco meeting her almost lazily as he studies the depths of her eyes. He watches her chest rise, her breath hitch, and then she is increasing her pace and her mouth falls open. He bites down on his lip, making an effort not to do what he really wants and flip her over on her back so he race towards his completion. Instead he lets her build them slowly, never looking away and keeping her pace excruciatingly careful.

He's sweating by the end, most with the exertion of keeping control. She has dropped close, her nose brushing his and her mouth nipping at his own. Her moans have slowly morphed into pants and then delicious screams and then she is tumbling over her own precipice and he follows her like a man possessed.

In the afters, he spoons her on the sofa and traces lazy paths down her arm.

"Is it strange, do you think, how amazing we are together when it's not real?"

Draco takes a breath to answer but ends up with a shrug and a casual, "Probably."

She snickers. "That's it? 'Probably'?"

Sighing, he rolls onto his back. She follows, rolling herself over and draping herself across his chest. "Probably. But honestly I don't think it's worth worrying about. So this is a dream? Well, it's delightful isn't it? Why stress about it beyond that?"

"I'm not stressing. Just curious. You know me: Hermione Granger, know-it-all extraordinaire. I can't help myself."

She giggles and the mood of the room is such that he should follow her in mirth but suddenly it doesn't seem funny at all. He tries not to dwell on the truth of this little joy that the Room provides.

She responds to his quiet with a hand on his cheek. "Hey. I'm sorry. I just… you know in the beginning I thought maybe there was something you needed from me. Am I just wasting time? Is there something else I should be doing?"

He glances at her and kisses her forehead. "I don't know what you could do truthfully." He thinks it goes without saying that _this_ , here and now, is not for nothing. The days that stretch him to breaking point always end in nights like this and somehow he makes it through the next day. And really, if the real Hermione did try to help him, would he even accept? He can't even admit to this figment the extent of his task. How could he tell a flesh and blood witch what he can hardly face in his own head?

"Now, what should we do for Christmas? Perhaps I can manipulate my dreams that night?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christmas is spent skating on a frozen lake. Some muggle sport upon which his dream lover insists. They spend the night turning circles and falling on ice; laughing and nurses bruised limbs. At the end, they tumble onto a rug in front of a fire in a small cabin and Draco makes love to her as many times as the span of his dream allows. He feels like he's been here, in this dream, for days and says a prayer to every higher power of possibility in sincere thanks for this respite.

Hermione is drifting to sleep within the dream and he pulls her closer, breathing in her scent and basking in the warmth of her skin. He whispers so soft she probably wouldn't hear even if awake. "Merlin save me but I think I love you."

 **A/N**

 **Apologies for the shorter length. This was a bit of a transition chapter. For those who are looking forward to them speaking in real life again, we get a bit of that in Chapter 11! I didn't edit this as much as usual. Just a quick once through so I'm sorry in advance for any typos or mistakes but I felt bad not posting yesterday. There are over 100 of you following now! Big number for me so thank you for reading! Much love as always to those that fave and follow and everyone who reviews, including anons to which I can't send my thanks in a PM. Looking forward to your thoughts on Draco's feels!**


	11. Chapter 11

The beginning of term starts much like the previous ended. Draco attends class, works on the cabinet (actually making some progress), and he dreams.

His relationship with the fantasy Hermione is possibly the strongest he's ever had with another person, pathetic as that might be. His short-lived romance with Pansy, his friendships with Theo and Blaise, his odd bond with his Godfather... nothing has ever been this easy.

So the take-away from that? Draco thinks maybe he's just meant to be alone within himself.

If asked, he wouldn't even complain about it. Not really. His time with Hermione recharges his heart, energizes his body. In waking hours he is left with a whisper of the euphoria that is 'being in love'. Some days are harder than others. The task before him looms ever near, but he's not sure he could have made it through the year at all if not for the Room and the gift it has given him.

The hardest part, he thinks, is seeing the real Granger day to day and reconciling that _she_ is not _Her_. There is a temptation there. He is drawn to her scent and her touch and those soulful eyes. There is also a bitterness. Nearly betrayal. He had told her, in dreams, he didn't like to think about it. He professed it didn't matter, that he would just enjoy what was given. But as time marches forward, it's increasingly hard to ignore.

He sees her every night, basks in her beauty and in what they could have been. What they almost could be.

Then he sees her every day and who she is with Potter and that red-headed growth of a Weasley.

She laughs with them like she laughs with Draco in dreams. She grins and chides and bosses and stomps her foot and giggles and pouts. From a distance he watches and he hates her a little for it. For being exactly who he imagines she is, just not with _him_.

He hates his father for making her forbidden. He hates his lunatic aunt for shoving his family even closer to service with the Dark Lord. And he hates that fucking monster that sits at his dining table, passing judgment and scheming with other people's lives.

He hates everyone that makes it impossible for him to love her. Most especially, himself.

Yet he is still grateful for the time he has. He is the type of man that could have punished her for it. He could have been petulant and cold and angry in dreams to alleviate the stress. But he doesn't have enough self-hatred to deprive himself of what he has with her.

Draco has heard tales of a mirror, lost to the ages, rumoured to appear century to century, decade to decade. Erised is the reflection of desire. His father told him once that wizards have wasted away, staring at the images of the very things Malfoys already enjoy. It had made him smug, thinking of all the poor saps staring at themselves, bathed in piles of galleons, a beautiful witch on both arms, knowing that could simply be his future.

Now he knows, if he found that mirror, he would be staring at himself, lounging in summer grass, with a content Hermione Granger in his arms.

The Room of Requirement.

Erised.

Required. Desired. She is everything to him.

The bitterness comes because sometimes she is right there, real and true. Sitting in class, eating at meals, studying in some dark corner of the library, spending wasted hours with her unworthy friends, she is stomping and bossing and laughing and so close he could touch her. If it wouldn't mean his own death of course. And probably hers too. And that is no longer an abstract idea: The death of Granger.

She may not be his Hermione, but he has watched her now long enough to know a difficult truth. The Room, Hogwarts, it _knows_ her. His Hermione is more than just his fantasy; she is what could have been. If things were different, if _he_ was different, she would chide and pout and giggle with _him_.

He could have had _her_. He could love _her_.

Suddenly the wizards withering in front of a mirror... suddenly he can sympathize. If he didn't have to wake each morning, if he could will his body to succumb to sleep, he'd gladly stay in the Room with her until his body gave out. He'd be starved and hollow and wheezing final breaths but content to expire in exchange for a beautiful lie.

He's lost in reverie when he focuses his vision to the witch in his line of site. He realizes he has been staring and that Hermione, … _Granger_ , she's staring right back.

She looks curious and a little hesitant. He can imagine that's because for once, he's not sneering. He's not scowling and jeering. He's just looking at her.

It's actually not the first time he's been caught. Usually she gives him a frustrated look or huffs at him or asks if she can "help him with something". He snarks back, usually a dig about her looks or her heritage, and they part ways the enemies they have to be.

This time though, he doesn't have it in him. She's not huffing or frustrated and he just imagines laying with her in front of a fire, playfully splashing in a pool, holding her hand across a table in a café that the world made just for them. He hears the words in his head, the night he whispered he loved her. He can almost feel her skin beneath his fingertips, her hair held tight in his fist, her mouth devouring his.

Draco stares back with an even expression, far too long to be comfortable, before she blushes and looks away. Finishing her breakfast quickly, he sees her mumble something to her friends and then race out of the room.

The desire to follow her is a dangerous temptation. But to what end? To declare his affection? To seduce her into a wicked tryst in a hidden castle corner? To beg her for some salvation he doesn't deserve but suspects she might represent?

He rises without so much as a guess what he will say if he finds her. All he knows is he craves her more and more each day. The need is increasing and he will hate himself even more if he doesn't give in eventually and talk to her: The _real_ Granger.

Draco's stride far outreaches her petite gait and he overtakes her in a quiet corridor near the library (no doubt her destination).

"You were staring."

He watches her pull up short and whip her head in his direction, eyes wide and startled.

"I-". Her eyes narrow and she draws herself up as tall as her diminutive frame allows. "I actually recall _you_ were staring. I just noticed."

He leans one shoulder against the stone wall and crosses his ankles. "Simply lost in thought, Granger. But I understand. I'm sure my beauty extends to muggle standards."

"My standards of beauty require more substance than skin deep aesthetics, Malfoy. It doesn't matter how you look when you're a bigoted ferret beneath."

Well that stings a bit. He was trying for a flirty approach and she immediately deteriorated into name calling.

"Watch it, Granger. That was less than polite." His hurt translates into more bite in his voice than he intended. He probably sounds threatening.

She looks around and seems to notice they are alone. Her wand has subtly slipped into her palm, further confirming his tone did indeed frighten her. Taking a step away from him she asks, "Polite? When have you ever been polite to me? In over five years, you've been nothing but a monster to me."

A monster. It's funny, that's how he refers to the Dark Lord in private thoughts. He doesn't care for her assessment. "That's a bit dramatic, don't you think? I can be rather charming. Ask around. _Plenty_ of witches will tell you."

Her face screws up in distaste. "Is this some new form of torment you've arranged for me? Tired of old standbys mudblood, beaver, and bookworm?"

"Well I do like to keep things interesting."

"Hey, 'Mione!"

 _Of course._

"What are you doing, Malfoy? Thought you'd get her alone and torture her a bit?"

"Fuck off, Potter. We were just having a conversation."

"Yeah well it's over now. C'mon, Hermione. Neville's meeting us."

She gives him one last look which he meets with a sneer, left over from his interaction with the Boy-Who-Lives-to-Annoy.

So that could have gone better.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"He has _got_ to stop that."

"Who has to stop what?" Draco is sitting in a high-backed fireside near a roaring fire in a cozy study. He recognizes it vaguely as having been his Aunt Walburga's chair that used to sit in his Mother's personal lounge. She inherited it from her when Walburga Black had passed. Though the room itself is strange and unfamiliar. Cluttered and dark and not at all befitting his father's demands for a pristine home.

"Him… _you_. Real life Draco. If you want my attention that badly you could behave like a civilized person and simply talk to me."

"Ah. You're referring to berating your bodyguards in the corridor. It's not my fault they showed up and ruined the conversation."

She snorts at that. "Please. Ruined the conversation? You were being a complete arse; throwing other witches in my face and tossing around cheap innuendoes."

"I thought you found my innuendoes charming." He flashes her a winning grin and notices her own mouth start to curl into a returned smile.

"Well… only because they're usually about me." She settles onto his lap, straddling his hips, and locks her arms around his neck. "Plus you're much more captivating than he is."

"He's me. I'm him. The difference is that here I'm honest."

She laughs heartily at that and gives him a peck on his nose. "Can you imagine what Harry and Ron would say if I told them 'no, no that's not the _real_ Draco; he's really quite romantic'."

"There is no world that I could imagine, dream up, or create, in which _they_ need to know I'm romantic."

Hermione sighs and nuzzles down against his neck. "I could."

"Could…?"

She looks up and presses her lips to his cheek quickly then meets his gaze. "I could imagine a world in which I'd want them to know that. A world with no war and no Voldemort and only you and me together and I'd defend Draco Malfoy to them with my last breath. If _he_ could be _you_."

"Don't do anything for me with your last breath, Love. I'd rather prefer you to stay around."

She giggles and swats him playfully. "You know what I mean."

Hermione settles in, draped against his chest, her cheek on his shoulder, and they fall into a satisfied quiet. Draco is playing over their interaction (or rather his interaction with Granger) when finally he says, "You know I just meant to chat with you. Flirt a little. To be fair, you went on the defensive really quickly."

There is a beat then she concedes, "I suppose that's true. But can you honestly be surprised by that? When you cornered me alone… I thought you might hex me. Or spout insults about my blood or my hair or something. You are a bit imposing."

"I've earned that. For years nothing would make me happier than to intimidate you. Frighten you. I doubt I could ever earn anything back: Your trust. Affection."

"Sure you could." She pulls away again and searches his eyes. "Of course you could, Draco, don't be ridiculous. If Malfoy was really like you…"

She drifts off and takes his face in her hands, holding him steady and narrowing her eyes. "I've told you every way I know how: I would be yours." She leans forward and kisses him, her tongue barely flicking to taste his bottom lip. "I would be bold." He shivers a little, remembering the first time she said that in a dream, during their first kiss. "I could love you."

Draco crushes her against him and kisses her hard, wanting and wishing and praying and begging this could be real. Hearing Hermione Granger profess her love, or at least the possibility of it…

If he died right now in this Room, he would shake the hand of death and follow willingly across the veil. He knows nothing in his life will ever be as beautiful as this. It's a truth more bitter than sweet in waking hours but, right now it tastes like honey.

 **A/N**

 **Thanks as always for faves, follows, and reviews (anon and otherwise). Also a big thank you to the readers who are not only sticking with me on this, but going back and reading some of my other works! Just because a story is over doesn't mean I don't love and appreciate hearing thoughts on them!**

 **It looks like this story is probably going to wrap at 15 chapters. We are going to speed toward the climax now but a couple of big cannon events need to happen first. Looking forward to hearing thoughts on this chapter!**


	12. Chapter 12

The weeks of winter pass into spring and Draco continues to follow two paths, splitting himself into two lives.

During the day, anyone who knows him can now see he is struggling. The long nights, lack of nutrition, stress, and guilt have left him looking hollow and dark. His frame is leaner than is healthy, his hair limp and long, falling into his eyes. His usual vanity, his pride, is non-existent during the daylight hours. He methodically attends classes, lucky that he is intelligent enough to skate by with little effort. His marks are not as high as they could be, but his natural affinity for most subjects carries him through.

His friends have virtually given up efforts to speak with him. Pansy has moved on, set her sights on some Ravenclaw seventh year with a large inheritance and, as Draco understood it in the snickering of the Greengrass sisters, matching cock. Crabbe and Goyle have hounded him enough months that they seem confident he is spending as much time in the Room as possible and no longer guard the entrance. Blaise seems more withdrawn than usual for the jovial Italian. He spends less and less time in the Slytherin dorms (not that Draco is there much either), preferring to spend time in the library, on the grounds, or in whatever witch's room will have him. Rumor from the Greengrass sisters is that his mother has been seeing a half-blood wizard and he fears for her safety within the rumblings of war. Blaise himself has never been quite as violently bigoted toward those of lesser blood, but definitely felt the benefits of being a pureblood when it came to society affairs.

At night, Draco almost literally comes alive. The nature of dreams being as they are, he is a different person when he sleeps, even physically. His body feels strong and full of energy. He looks impeccable every day (night). Never a hair out of place, his clothing smart and pressed. At least until his witch divests him of whatever he's wearing to make use of all that imaginary energy. He gives her everything he has. He lavishes her with attention, banters against her wit, argues heated debates, and loves her body and mind relentlessly.

It can't be healthy, this dual life he lives.

Something, eventually, has to break. One of the lives must consume the other irrevocably. Unfortunately for Draco, it is his real life that eats away at his dreams.

It is the first of March and his ability to separate his guilt from his love affair is thread-bare and worn. For Valentine's Day, he had wished for the Room to give him a dream in a castle he'd visited once as a boy, focusing on the memory for hours before sleep. One of the tall towers had a bedroom, lavishly designed and expansive. A balcony faced rolling hills and a golden setting sun. He'd stood with his dream witch and watched the sky eat the day, his arms wrapped around her shoulders and her hands clutching his. They made love on the balcony's stone floor, hastily throwing his robes down beneath them. She had clung to him after and asked for assurances and affection that he was desperate to give but loath to promise. He had whispered that he loved her again, but only once her breathing evened out as if in sleep. When he woke in the Room his resolve had snapped and he had wept.

For a number of days after he tried to hide his fears and self-loathing but finally, he couldn't face her anymore, at least for a time. Whether she is his conscious, his fantasy, absolution, or damnation, he could no longer look at her beautiful face and continue with the playful relationship they had come to enjoy. He decided he needed to take some time away from his dreams.

After securing the poison he intended to make its way to Dumbledore's private stores, he stopped going to the Room. He told Snape he was nearly ready for the final stage of his plan (and indeed the cabinet was behaving well nine out of ten times) and needed to focus on his marks for a few days as not to rouse suspicion.

The first night was the hardest. He woke over and over through the night. Tossing and turning and reaching out for Hermione in his mind, willing her to find him. Of course she never did. At least, not the one he was so accustomed to seeing.

Instead he dreamed of a Granger with angry eyes who drew her wand at him or shivered in fear of him. He dreamed of a faceless Dark Lord looming over the broken body of a beautiful girl, her curls hiding her battered face.

He also looks for her now in waking hours, Granger, even more than he had before. Now that he doesn't see his witch in dreams, he finds any moment to stare. To watch. He hopes she will look at him yet prays she won't. The temptation to see her, to go back to dreams, to corner the real girl, anything… It's all he can do to resist.

She isn't around as much as he'd like. In fact she is oddly absent on the second day.

Then on the third day he is told she is in the hospital wing, holding the hand of Ronald Weasley who is delirious with poison, moaning her name.

Poison.

His resolve to stay away crumbles and he just wants to see her. Wants to know that there is a Hermione somewhere who still believes he's worth saving.

After just three nights away from her, he finds her sitting in the grass under a tree, an expanse of grassy field around her. She is bathed in the sickly light of a grey sky at sunset, her legs bent and pulled to her chest, resting her cheek on her knee and staring blankly beyond her.

He clears his throat and sits down, scooping an arm over her shoulder and dropping a light kiss at her hairline.

"Hello, luv."

She responds by picking up her head and leaning it against him. She mumbles in a way that he's not sure she even expects a response, "Where were you last night…"

Ignoring the question he says, "This is a dark dream. Is this your doing?" _Or mine?_ He wonders. The guilt of misplaced poison is eating at him, though he's hid it well. If he survives the year, he thinks, he might have a future in theater.

Much the same as with Katie Bell, Draco is feeling the failure of another poorly executed plan. He doesn't much care for Ronald Weasley. He's never made any bones about that fact. But that doesn't mean he isn't affected having nearly killed him. He was just some dumb prat in the wrong place and his life was nearly snuffed out. If not for Saint fucking Potter of course.

It riles him even more to have to feel grateful to that great ponce Potter that he was the only thing standing in the way of Draco being an actual, honest-to-Merlin, murderer.

"You know the answer to that," is all she says and he understands everything is his doing really, the dreams all coming from his mind, even if she tries to convince him sometimes it's hers. And sometimes he almost lets himself believe it, because that would make her real.

And yet, when pressed, even in the safety of his own head, he can't bring himself to be honest about what he's done so he feigns ignorance and says, "Yours then, obviously. What's brought on the grey sky?"

"Ron almost died yesterday. He's in the hospital, delirious and sweaty and pale and I feel just terrible."

He furrows his brow. "Why do you feel terrible? You didn't hex him yourself I assume?" For the second time he knows he will lie to her if pressed on his part in an evil plot.

Instead she laughs a little, very quietly. "Of course not. Though I threaten to do so on frequent occasion. He can be such a child..." She fades off, lost in a bit of reverie, before she says, "He asked for me today. Half unconscious with that Brown tart hanging around his bedside and he wanted _me_."

Yes, Draco had heard about that. Apparently that bint Lavender was seeing red and loudly announced to half the Great Hall she was done with Weasley. Draco assumes anyone hungry for some easy snatch will be knocking on _that_ door soon enough.

"Why does that make you feel terrible?" He knows why _he_ feels terrible about it. Because even though that's the _real_ Hermione out there while _his_ lives here, in this Room, it makes him feel jealous in a way he can't describe. He had felt a tightening in his gut like sickness would take him at the thought of _his_ Hermione sitting beside the Ginger-wonder, holding his hand and stroking his face.

"Well because I just don't feel that way about him. Not anymore. I mean... I did, I told you... before..."

"Before…? Before he started sucking Brown's face off in the most nauseating way? Realized you dodged a hex there, eh?" He nudges her and smirks, trying to elicit her beautiful laugh. Her laugh is always a balm for him and today he could certainly use it.

And she does. Laughs that is. A little stronger this time, but not with true joy like she deserves. "Yes, before that, and also..." She looks up and smiles at him and he feels his chest constrict. He loves that smile and he covets this witch and he feels tremendous guilt for what he's done and fear for what he has to do.

His heart is too full of all the things that are dangerous for him to feel.

"Also?"

"Also before I started to realize I might be more compatible with someone else."

He understands she is referring to him and he smiles and kisses her with a lazy pace and sensual pressure. He could be swept up in it except this little piece of him that knows she's only saying that because she is The Room, not The Witch. Not Hermione fucking perfect Granger. Not for the first time he doesn't know if this Room is his heaven or hell.

She breaks away and has a slightly sad expression that he feels might mirror his own. "I just don't know how to reconcile that this isn't real. How does Hermione Granger go hold Ron Weasley's hand while Draco Malfoy slowly destroys himself?"

He cups her face and runs his thumb softly over the peak of her cheekbone, memorizing the ridge there, studying the freckles on her nose, falling head first into her eyes. "I don't know how it is for you, but as far as I'm concerned you're my whole world and I'll take what I can get."

He vows right then he won't spend any night away again. Not if he can help it.

She whimpers into his kiss like she could cry or come undone and it's probably both. And true to his word he takes what he can get and lays her down in the soft grass and has her completely. He gives himself to his private goddess as surely as he consumes her in return.

After, cradling her in his lap as her breathing slows, he is crumbling inside. The glue of her that keeps him together can't hold up against the guilt and the fear much longer and he knows their time will come to an end.

Hermione sighs happily and hugs her arms around him tighter and then she's simply gone.

His back is stiff and his muscles ache. Instead of a lush shade tree and soft grass, he is leaned against the Vanishing Cabinet on a hard floor. He had fallen asleep suddenly and not made himself comfortable.

The Cabinet… He looks up at the piece looming over him and feels his eyes prick, making him blink back the tears. It's almost ready and he knows it. He's basically stalling now, tweaking it at a purposefully slow pace, but the fact is he just isn't ready in his own head to take the next step. The attempt at poison? Truthfully a part of him just wanted to get caught. It was another weak attempt, just like the hexed necklace. If Dumbledore suspected maybe they would just arrest him. Take him off the chess board. Voldemort would be unhappy but most likely wouldn't hurt his Mother if it was felt Draco had honestly tried. Draco knows his life is as good as over but he can't give up on Narcissa. The only person who has ever loved him. Cared for him.

The only person with an actual pulse at least.

Could this Hermione care for him? Could the personified magic of Hogwarts feel for him? It's a ridiculous thought, but somehow it would almost be enough. Someone… _something_ caring.

Picking himself off the floor, Draco drags himself back to his dorm to catch a couple of hours of actual sleep. His dreams are all the snake visage of the Dark Lord and his mother's broken body bleeding on their dining room table and Hermione Granger looking at him with hate and tears in her eyes, her wand pointed at his heart.

 **A/N**

 **Closer and closer to the end we advance. Lots of new follows and faves which makes me super happy! Thank you as always to the reviewers. I know I thank you in private but it's worth repeating. Reviews are the lifeblood of fics. Plus I don't want to forget the anons that I can't message!**

 **So for everyone who has reviewed so far, lots of love: Myrrdin Emrys the Third, Jade Presley, LightofEvolution, Trinka Bella, Dan Dan Dan, Beauteous Cupcake, HarryPGinnyW4eva, iamthewerepire, kateynnwho, ACupples, hoshikari7, Paul's Chooka, Beestung2025, Scaleybark, purpleninjacow, UnicornShenanigans, katems113, auxcon, 4fanci, nikeceleste13, mNmcswain, Ixxsolemnyxxswear, LLyvers6, Musicangel913, Jessibelle811, UltimateB, Deedee, chapou69, ndavis77, Princess Miya, Zeb1312, and of course... "guest" :)**

 **If I missed anyone I apologize and take full ownership of the oversight.**

 **Also a big thanks to LightofEvolution who has given me some nudges to stick to my path and not second guess. Also thanks to some readers who have been going back and reviewing some of my old works. Most notably Gaeleria who I think has commented on about every one of my Dramione and Trinka Bella who not only read Hermione Bergeron, but gave it a second go-round simply to leave chapter reviews.**

 **Next chapter is a pretty big one then we speed into the climax! In the US, it's the season for giving thanks and I would be most thankful for reviews! Faves are also wonderful. Closing the gap from follows to faves is always a personal goal**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Hi! Still no ownership but also wanted to be very clear there is some dialogue here that comes directly from the book.**

The Vanishing Cabinet decides to give Draco another headache in the coming days. After the scare with Ronald Weasley, Draco went back to working more seriously on the cabinet to try to finish that element of his plan. If he could at least report progress on that front, he could refrain from any other mediocre attempts at Dumbledore. He figures that would be best for everyone since apparently he is such a _fuck up_ , he will end up killing someone else by mistake. To say Draco is feeling a bit of self-disgust is an understatement.

Snape has been on him for information, claiming he only wants to help. Draco's mother had said to trust his Godfather but with the secrets in his head, the infatuation with Potter's best friend and the questioning of his life-long philosophies, he doesn't trust such a loyal follower as Severus Snape not to turn on even him.

Lucius stopped sending messages weeks ago. The last one, " _Do not imagine failure is acceptable to me or your family"_ , family written in bold lines as if to imply it meant far more than Lucius and Narcissa, made it perfectly clear to Draco that there would be no tolerance if he stepped onto King Cross station this May without Dumbledore's head under his arm.

The Slytherins have begun to treat Draco as an outcast. Revered as he was merely a few months ago, they are all splintering further with their own schemes, goals, and concerns. Those with dark connections like Draco are delving farther into themselves, seeming to wait for fire and brimstone to either burn them up or the world around them. Others are distancing themselves from the house overall. Tracy Davis, infamous for being a half-blood in the normally pure house, has taken up with a Hufflepuff boy and barely returns to the dungeons before curfew to sleep. You can't argue she doesn't belong in Salazar's house with her obvious self-preservation setting in. Even the Greengrass girls have stopped supplying Draco with house gossip, not that he much cared about any of it anyway.

Hermione is all Draco has left at this point. Any attempts to pull away on his part have completely ceased. On Wednesday last they had spent a sunny afternoon on a private beach, eating fruit and making love in the sands.

Now, more than a week after Weasley is released from Pomfrey's care, Draco is able to use the cabinet to perfectly vanish a ripe red apple. It comes back from Borgin's in perfect shape, so juicy and shiny he takes a bite just to prove it has come to no interior harm. It is as ideal inside as out and for a moment he feels like the most brilliant wizard who ever lived. This was the first item with organic matter to come back unharmed, all his previous successful attempts being manufactured materials. He knew he had been close but to actually see it working flawlessly is enough to make him shout with joy.

Then he tries the same on a small song bird and the poor creature comes back dead.

Draco falls in a heap, forehead pressed against the cabinet's face and weeps bitterly. He wants to stay and sleep and curl up in the arms of his witch. Equally he wants to run. To hideaway across the planet in some wizarding community in the States or South America or Japan or Greenland or anywhere else but here. Maybe even a muggle community, but he's sure they wouldn't want him either.

He tears from the room in the evening and goes the only other place he can imagine finding comfort.

In Draco's third year he had wandered into a girl's loo that was widely known to be out of use. He'd heard of the little muggle ghost and wanted to see for himself. Being but a boy of thirteen, he was curious in a thousand ways. Curious how she died. Curious why she wailed so.

Even curious to speak to a muggleborn.

A dangerous desire he had known but he justified that speaking to a ghost is completely different than speaking to an actual mudblood. Surely even his father would agree.

He doesn't find her there this time. At least not immediately.

Often he has hid himself away and reveled at her attentions. When that awful bird of Hagrid's had nearly torn his arm off, it was here he spent his days. "Poor boy," she had purred at him, running a ghostly hand across his hair. Her touch only a whisper of actual physical contact but it had soothed him. He's been many times since, usually at his lowest.

 _A ghost and a fantasy_ , he mocks himself. _That's where the great Draco Malfoy seeks his absolution_.

He leans over the sink, first staring at himself in the mirror. He is all dark circles and sallow skin. His mouth draws up in a grimace and then the first wracking sob escapes. He drops his head and lets the sorrow overtake him. Hunched over, gripping the sink, Draco is overwhelmed and cries like a young boy, sobbing and gasping and shaking deep to his bones.

Eventually Myrtle comes to him, sweeping around him and cooing in his ear. "Poor, poor darling boy. What is it? What's happened to make my Draco Malfoy so very sad?"

She reaches as if to touch him and he cringes away slightly.

"Don't pull away from me, Draco… don't…tell me what's wrong… I can help you."

She gives him space mercifully and is hovering somewhere near the cubicles. He shouldn't have come here. There is nothing she can offer him. And her sweet endearments are only adding an element of guilt that he is seeking out another witch for comfort, as unattainable though they both may be. He should have stayed with his Hermione and pretended another night away.

"No one can help me." The floodgates open on his tears and on his words. "I can't do it…I can't…It won't work…and unless I do it soon…he says he'll kill me…"

He might have said more but he looks up at that moment and finds himself staring into the green eyes of Harry Potter in the mirror. What had he heard? Draco knows he said nothing specific, nothing particularly damning, but was it too much? He whirls with little hesitation and even less thought and throws a stunning hex Potter's direction.

The other boy dodges and sends a Petrificus his way. Draco is able to avoid the spell but is growing more panicked. What if Potter goes to Dumbledore? What if they connect him with the other two attempts? What if he tries to kill him right here on the spot?

What if he tells Hermione what he's done…?

He makes a snap decision to do something he's never tried, not even sure if it will work, not sure if his _intent_ is really there. "Cruci-"

"Sectumsempra!" The bolt of magic tears from Potter's wand and Draco feels himself hurled to the ground.

He has never felt pain like this. Even worse than the Cruciatus he just failed to cast, there is a sting, a burn, and it feels like something has taken hold and ripped his body open from neck to navel. He tries to cry out but all he can manage is to choke on the blood rising in his throat.

He is barely lucid when his Godfather storms in and mutters a counter curse that staunches the flow of blood, in fact returning much of it to his body. But the excruciating ache persists and he eventually gives himself over, allowing his body to pass out from the pain.

XXXXXXXXX

Draco wakes that night, hardly conscious, buzzing with potions that help to block the pain, and swears he can feel the touch of Hermione's hand. He tries to grip back, his fingers barely twitching to close, but sleep takes him again before he can even open his eyes. Before he can decide if she was a dream.

He drifts in and out of dreams for a full day, but never fully encounters his fantasy Granger, nor the manifestation of the Dark Lord. He is a boy running the hills behind the manor. He is young and happy then older and scared then dreaming of the dreams the Room gives.

By the following day, his delirium has settled and he is sullen as Pomfrey bustles around him, shoving potions down his throat and checking this and that with her wand to be sure the gash on his chest is healing as well as it can, though she says even with her prompt care, he will have a scar.

Draco thinks at least this is a scar he can see.

XXXXXXXXXXX

It's been two days since Draco was sliced up by Potter and he is a jumbled mess of emotion as he makes his way back to his dorm. He had been released with the understanding that he would make his way directly to his room and rest for the remainder of the day. He's too angry at Potter to rest, too desolate without his dreams and the witch who stars in them, too _afraid_ , having lost two precious days on the cabinet. He's seething and panicking and yearning when he turns the final corner before the Slytherin portrait comes into view.

Then he hears her.

"Malfoy." At first he thinks it might be in his head. He's on pain potions after all, and stressed to an impossible height. But he turns and she's there, just behind him.

He doesn't respond verbally, completely lost as to what he would say. She's beautiful and she's _here_.

"She's released you then. Pomfrey."

That voice. That clinical inquisition with none of the humanity of _his_ Hermione. Haughty and curt, the cold of it cuts into him. It is a knife, searing flesh and carving his heart from its cavity. It's this dispassionate voice, a void of the warmth of his lover, which helps him find his anger and remember, yet again, that _she_ is not _her_.

"Come to finish the job for your precious Potter?" He spits out. "Or plead his case so I don't have him expelled… Or worse."

She narrows her eyes but he sees her take a breath as though to right herself before she continues. "No I just saw you in the corridor and thought… I really just wanted to say that Harry didn't know what that spell would even do so you can't really blame him."

She tosses her head back, swinging her hair behind her shoulder as if there is finality in her sentiment. Like it makes everything in the world right.

"Fuck you, I can." He advances on her and she shrinks back against the stone wall. "This is why muggles shouldn't be here. Potter might have some magical blood but he's as much a muggleborn as you are. It's basic etiquette, Granger. Wizarding honor. You don't use a spell you can't fucking control." He leans in a little bit farther and jabs a finger at the base of her neck and hisses, "Unless you are really sure you don't give a _fuck_ what it will do. Any _real_ wizard knows that."

He's standing over her breathing hard and she's panting back under his gaze. His anger is turning into bitterness as her breath puffs against his skin. Bitterness is tinging the edges of passion and want. She should be _his_. She should want him and he should be able to have her. He could just take her. Here, on the dirty hard floor he could take her and love her and tuck her away to protect as his.

He tears himself away from her and stalks back down the hall toward the portrait, calling back over his shoulder, "Tell Potter if he has something to say he can face me himself instead of sending his pet muggle to do it."

He whispers the password and begins to step through the portal. When he glances back, much like his dream version, she's already gone.

XXXXXXX

"I tried to approach you and you threw it back in my face."

Draco is laying on the grass on the Manor grounds, one arm slung over his face to protect from the sun. His witch sounds predictably put out.

"No, you tried to cover your boyfriend's tracks. It had nothing to do with me." He takes the arm off his eyes and squints up at her.

Hermione stomps her foot in that endearing way she has. "That's not true! I was worried about you, you git!"

He sits up now and pulls his knees up, resting his forearms atop them casually. It doesn't do any good to be angry with this dream Hermione but he's not going to let her lie to him. Or lie to himself. "You didn't even ask how I was, Granger."

"Of course I did! Before you bit my head off-"

"No, you made an observation about my status of release and then proceeded to deny Potter's responsibility in the whole affair."

"I- oh." He watches her and can nearly hear her thinking, as if replaying the confrontation. "Right, I guess…" She flops down beside him, wraps her arm through his though she doesn't lean close like she usually would. "I guess I lost my nerve. You're intimidating and you were looking at me with such utter annoyance…"

Looking straight ahead he agrees, "I was I guess. Annoyed you couldn't be… _you_. Annoyed you had to chase me down an empty corridor and then still didn't show me any actual concern."

"Well you didn't have to be so cruel, throwing my blood in my face."

He hesitates. He had felt guilt even as he'd said it, spitting his old prejudice at the witch. "I didn't mean it you know. I don't really… think like that anymore."

He thinks she might continue to hound him, deservedly so, but instead Hermione reaches a hand to his face and turns him to look at her. "Are you alright, Draco? I'm so sorry you were hurt."

"Nearly murdered," he pouts, no longer even a little angry and most definitely angling for sympathy.

"No reason to be dramatic," she mumbles against his lips, leaning into him. He pillows her bottom lip in response and then their kiss becomes frantic and he lays her down beneath him, happy that his dream body seems to be completely healed.

Here, there is no scar that you can see.

"I was afraid he'd killed you," she whispers later as he holds her.

He laughs a little. "Me too actually."

"I'm really glad he didn't."

He looks down at her, brushing the hair from her face, and feels gratitude wash through him as it often does. If this is all his life ever is, all he ever amounts to, at least he's had her. He remembers that moment in the corridor, angry and hurt as he'd been, more than anything he wanted to love her and protect her above all else.

So he agrees, "Me too."

 **A/N**

 **Disclaimer and full disclosure: To clarify what I was referencing at the top of the page, in the interest of keeping things relatively close to cannon, I lifted some of the dialogue between Myrtle and Draco directly from the book.**

 **Big thanks to reviewers as always! I'm so excited to see I've moved into double digits per chapter on the average! Thanks for faves and follows as well of course. Only 2 chapters and a short epilogue left! Would love to hear from you as always! Reviews are a gift and I love you all for them!**


	14. Chapter 14

The cabinet is finished.

It happens early on a Sunday morning and Draco spends the remainder of the day filled with dread and hesitation. He should tell his Godfather. He should send word to the manor. He should be excited and filled with well-earned pride.

Instead he spends the day in the astronomy tower, alone and cold and staring at the ground below. He ponders questions like how much it would hurt to fall from the top. Would he feel it or would death take him so instantaneously it wouldn't matter? All year he has been scared he would not be able to complete the cabinet and would be killed for it. Now he's panicking because he has.

Now he has to stand in front of one of the most powerful wizards that ever lived... who is equally an old man with a sweet tooth and kind eyes…and murder him. How can he be expected to kill in cold blood? Then again, how can he expect to have a chance for his crisis of morality to matter? He can't defeat _Dumbledore_ for Merlin's sake… and if Dumbledore _doesn't_ kill him, he'd bet galleons to chocolate frogs that Voldemort will.

That night, he tucks himself into a make-shift bed in the Room. Laying awake for some time, he tries to clear his mind. No one knows yet, what he's done. He can spend another night... maybe just a few more days... enjoying a life he was never meant to have before he destroys it all. Sleep comes fitfully but eventually it does come.

He is walking along an overgrown stone path on a chilly day and he can feel it's already not _right_. Not the sort of dream he expected.

"Ah, young Draco."

The voice hisses at him like a caress but the caress of a cold and scaly hand. "My Lord," he murmurs back, well beyond apprehensive and kissing the edges of terrified.

He doesn't see the Dark Lord but he knows he is here. And if the fantasies of Granger are questionably more real, he knows without a doubt this is not just a standard dream. He almost wonders if Voldemort killed him here, if he might really die.

"I've been very patient, have I not, Draco? Have I not been generous with my time?"

"I... you have, My Lord. Very generous."

"And have you squandered that time then, Mister Malfoy?"

"No!" He denies quickly and takes a calming breath. "No, My Lord. I've not. The cabinet, Sir, it's nearly ready. I sent a bird through today. It came back alive."

"Well, well," he drawls out slowly, "that is most pleasing then. And surprising." A darkness, anger, tinges the words. "Why have you not informed Severus so I might... _congratulate_ you? Why do you waste precious moments in sleep?"

"I apologize I only wanted to test another few times. To be sure... I would hate to see your most loyal come to harm." He feels like his voice is shaking; hopes it goes unnoticed.

"How tremendously considerate of you. However, my most loyal have priorities above their own comforts. You understand that of course? What I require of my _most_ loyal."

"I- yes of course. Yes, My Lord. I will speak to Severus tomorrow-"

"Tonight." The voice booms and it brooches no argument. Then it softens and he says, almost like a suggestion, "So that tomorrow night, we might make use of your hard work."

"Tonight." Draco licks his lips nervously and feels his heart pound in his ears.

Then there is a silence so deep it's a devastating hum in his head. The path, the sky, everything is gone and he is in a black space... and then he is awake.

Pulling himself up on trembling legs, Draco makes his way from the room and moves quickly to his Godfather's chambers. He knocks once, loudly and with purpose, before clearing his mind and making efforts for his usual mask of indifference to cover his face.

The door swings open with the professor's usual dramatics and Snape looks as though he might chastise him for the late hour, but, perhaps noticing something in his expression, steps aside and allows him to enter. Once the door is shut he asks, "Is it done then?"

"Yes. I've tested it today. I would have liked to be more sure but he came to me, in dreams. He wants to do it tomorrow night."

His Godfather's mouth is a grim line and he nods in understanding. "Very well. To your dormitory with you then. It will not do for you to draw attention to yourself in the meantime. If anyone asks on your way, you were here, with me, seeking additional potions tuteledge."

Draco nods and starts to the door when Snape's voice stops him, stern but also more patient than is the norm. "Are you ready, Mister Malfoy? Are you prepared for what comes next?"

It is with great effort he keeps his mind clear of the fear and hate and dread that threaten to overtake him. "Of course. I will make him proud. Make you all proud."

He breezes from the room and nearly runs back to the dungeons where he lies for the rest of the night. Staring up at the silk canopy of green and imagining chocolate eyes and a crooked smile, and trying not to let blood coat the image.

XXXXXX

The next day is filled with preparation and an obvious attempt at not appearing obvious.

He tries to stay near other students at any given moment. He is on the pitch, though he can't bring himself to fly. He is in each class, though he barely listens and doesn't in any way participate. He dines with his house, though he doesn't speak a word. He lounges in the common room but any play at relaxation is a façade.

He spends the day wound tight as a drum, counting down the minutes and wondering how the hell he is supposed to murder someone. His life for fifteen years was chocolate frogs and expensive brooms and portkeys around the world. After tonight he will no doubt return to the manor either to be killed, tortured, or forced to participate in whatever disgusting debauchery the Dark Lord will lay at his feet in "reward"… depending of course on his level of success or failure.

That night, for the last time, he settles himself in to sleep in the Room for just a moment. For barely a nap really. It takes him far too long to fall asleep, exhausted though he is, kept awake by the desperation to see her one last time.

When he sees Her, she is standing alone in an empty space, void of color and form, looking at him in confusion. Draco strides to her in three long paces and sweeps her into a crushing embrace. She questions with a soft "Draco?" muffled against his chest.

"It's all over tonight. Everything changes and I… I have to say Goodbye now." He can feel the tears welling in his eyes and doesn't bother to wipe them away.

She pulls back, fighting his hold enough to look into his face. "What are you talking about? Draco, you're unnerving me."

He cups her face with his hand and runs his thumb gently across her cheekbone. "I wouldn't have made it through this year. You saved my life. But I…" his voice breaks and he swallows hard to continue, "I won't be able to see you anymore." He scoffs to himself as he searches her eyes. _How ridiculous am I?_ He wonders. _Pining for dream_.

He lays his forehead against hers and closes his eyes. There is no sound in the room. And all he smells is that familiar ginger and mint he's come to know as his lover's shampoo. "I wish this was real," he confesses quietly for what must be the hundredth time.

He feels her lift her own hand to hold his tightly against her cheek. "Who's to say it isn't. I'm your whole world remember?"

When he opens his eyes he is met with hers in shimmering brown, an ironic smile playing her quivering lips. Suddenly her face straightens and she grabs his face with her hands. "Don't go. If you're supposed to go do something awful just… don't go." She's pleading by the end and it all but shatters whatever is left of Draco's heart.

"I've set my wand to alarm. It will make me wake suddenly and… soon. I have to go or he'll kill me. I don't know if I can do it but I don't have a choice." He's searching her eyes again and he laments for the final time, "Why can't you be real? You… this… I could have fought for this. For _us_. I never had a reason to do anything but what I was supposed to. No one expects me to be anything else. A Death Eater. A follower like my fucking Father."

Then he is kissing her and it's the last time and it's as painful as it is sinfully sweet. He tastes salt and isn't sure if it is his own tears or hers but they are both crying silently when he pulls away. "All I needed was for someone to believe in me. The Room really does give you what you require. I know it doesn't make any sense but, Hermione... I love you."

"Draco... are you-… what are you supposed to do?"

"I've let them..." He trails off but why hide it now? She… the Room… Hogwarts herself… she will know soon enough. "There's a way in, through your wards. I'm so sorry, I never wanted-"

And then he is awake. A gasp of breath, the shock of it when the alarm jerks him from his lover's arms, and then it's quiet and Draco gathers himself and calms the pounding of his heart. He stares at the ceiling in this equally cursed and blessed room, collecting himself and clearing his mind before he faces his aunt and the team of lunatics she will lead into his home.

After giving it a good hard kick, all his hatred and regret focused but ineffectual on the sturdy well-made piece of furniture, he activates the cabinet… and the Death Eaters stream into the sanctity of Hogwarts, staining it like ink on canvas and Draco follows his fated path until he is standing in front of a frail Dumbledore, his wand shaking in his hand.

The old wizard is trying to convince him there is another way. He is offering asylum, protection for his Mother, it's too good to be true. Too inconceivable to really work. But just for a moment he can see his future and a new path opens before him. Would Hermione be a part of his life? Is this where his dreams could lead him? Could the real Hermione Granger be as good and forgiving as the woman he already misses deep in his soul?

She couldn't, he thinks. How could she see past the monster he's been? The monster he is about to be. So to protect his family, to protect his Mother, he still has his wand raised, trying to control the shaking of his hand.

He is a Death Eater. His Father's son.

 _Goodbye, Hermione_.

XXXXXXXXX

Hermione Granger wakes with a force that feels like falling, jarring her in an instant to sitting at attention. Her breathing is heavy and her mind impossibly alert mere seconds out of her dream.

For several months now, she has been researching the massive Hogwarts library in every spare and private moment she can steal. She has searched for everything from magic in dreams to astral projection only to find no discernable reason for her vivid interludes that have increased to nearly every night.

The more the image of Draco spoke of the Room in her dreams, she started to put together a theory. The first night of the new school year, Hermione had gone to the Room of Requirement and asked it for a way to get the kind of sleep she needs. She'd been exhausted, prepping for the school year and stressing about everything from possible impending war, to an unrequited crush on one of her oldest friends. The Room had opened to reveal a completely blank space except for, in the middle of the room, a thick down comforter with satin finish. The top facing outward was an elegant dove grey. The reverse held a pattern of grey, white, and black. Not finding a bed, she assumed the Room meant for her to take it with her, so she had.

Nearly every night that followed, she slept under a warmth that must have been charmed and noticed a soft silence seemed to surround her. Almost immediately, she also started having her dreams.

In the beginning, she desperately tried to believe these overly realistic interludes were nothing more than a product of teenage hormones, increased academic stress, and possibly a dash of bad-boy fetish that seems to plague her peers from time to time. After a while, the unique nature of the dreams could no longer be chalked up to these mundane causes and she could not convince herself that her subconscious could be wholly responsible. She assumed the Room had given her, not only comfort, but introspection in the bargain.

So many times, she has thought about approaching him. Had done, even, once or twice. But he had been so awful, so much the pureblood prick she knew, that she'd continued to deny any possibility there was anything to these dreams than perhaps a call to examine her own thoughts and beliefs, Draco being nothing but a foil with which to discover herself.

The fact that she is now undeniably in love with him, the promise of a man that would be her perfection, is embarrassing and heartbreaking for her.

Tomorrow, her academic mind tells her, she will sit in the great hall across from the Slytherin table and look up to find piercing grey eyes glaring in her direction. Not believing in Divination (she dare not refer to it as "fortune-telling" ever again), the notion that her dream was prophetic of some catastrophe would be out of the question for Hermione Granger. Next time she sees her dream Draco, she thinks, she will be sure to punish him for his dramatics. Surely she will see him again soon.

For tonight, she expects the rest of her dreams will be colorless and empty and she already misses her Draco's phantom touch.

Tomorrow. She's sure she will see him tomorrow.

 **A/N**

 **So there was a time, actually from September 2015 until about 2 months ago, that this was labeled "Dreams of Requirement final chapter" on my laptop. It was intended to be kept in cannon and simply show how Draco could go from bigoted pureblood to a sobbing mess in the tower and then lying for Harry at the manor.**

 **I changed my mind :)**

 **I know most of you assumed they were sharing their dreams from the beginning but I hope I at least made you doubt it occasionally. Draco truly stopped considering they could possibly be real months ago. And when Hermione was missing from dreams but Draco heard her tell Harry and Ron she had indeed been sleeping, she had meant it. She just had fallen asleep without her magic imbued bedding. In my head-cannon she passed out in some cozy chair in the back of the library (while researching magic dreams no doubt).**

 **So many amazing reviews last night and tonight. Thank you all again! And thanks as always to new faves and follows. With the exception of the epilogue, tomorrow is the final chapter, and a nice long one :)**


	15. Chapter 15

Hermione lies with her eyes squeezed shut for a grand total of one hundred and thirty-seven seconds (She knows. She counted.) before she tosses the cozy grey comforter off and swings her legs to the floor. There's no way she will sleep more tonight and she won't be able live with herself if she doesn't prove herself right... or wrong... she's not even sure which is which.

Her gut is telling her to find Draco on Harry's map and stop the boy she loves from doing something stupid, something irreversible, whatever it may be. Hermione, however, was never very good at listening to her gut. She likes facts, statistics, research, _truth_. But something about these dreams, the man they feature... her brain itches in a way she can't understand. It's ridiculous enough that she professes to have feelings for someone her own imagination created; it's absolutely delusional to even pretend to hope he could be real.

Yet she finds herself standing from her bed and quickly replacing her pajamas with jeans and a light jumper.

Sneaking carefully from the room, a trick she's grown quite good at, having been friends with the reckless Harry Potter for so many years, she makes her way to the common room, furiously trying to work out a plan as she does. She is shocked to find Ron sitting in the dim light, munching on a bag of Bernie Bott's.

"Ron?"

He is startled at the interruption in the silence. "Blimey, 'Mione, we need to put a bleeding bell on you."

"Sorry." She perches on the low table in front of him. "What are you doing up? Where's Harry?"

"Not back yet so I couldn't sleep."

"Not back? At this hour?" Her fear for an imaginary Draco is partially eclipsed by terror for a very real Harry.

"I'm sure he's fine. I mean, he's with Dumbledore right? Even You-Know-Who can't stand up to him."

A sickening line of thinking starts and she's helpless but to follow it. Draco said he's supposed to do something horrible and now his whereabouts are vaguely unknown and suspicious and the same time Harry is on some secret task with the Headmaster.

 _But it's just a dream!_ She is screaming at herself in her head. She tells herself she is being ludicrous. Insane. It's probably all her subconscious: Stress induced hysterical nonsense. Harry has had her so on edge since September, seeing Death Eaters in the proverbial shadows and crazy theories spilling from his mouth. No wonder her overactive mind created this scenario.

No way is _Draco Malfoy_ , a cowardly bully, not to mention a mere boy, an actual Death Eater.

No way is Voldemort so confident, so _arrogant_ , as to believe a plan involving a teenager could possibly work.

No way is there such inexplicable magic that could create a reality in dreams without a caster's purposeful intent to do so.

No way is Draco Malfoy in love with her.

Either all of that is true or none of it is. Funny enough, it's the last one that has her in the most disbelief. Of everything, the sweet boy she knows as Draco cannot possibly be reconciled with the distasteful bigot she only knows as "Malfoy".

But what if? Even if she will hate herself tomorrow for even entertaining this lunacy, what if?

"Ron, I need to go check something. If Harry comes back, ask him to stay out here a bit would you? I'd like to speak with him too."

"That's not a good idea, 'Mione. You'll get caught for sure. I don't even think a prefect's badge would keep you out of detention."

"I won't be long. I just had a thought and I need to check something. But… if you could get me Harry's map I'd feel much safer. Just to take a look and get an idea who's wandering about."

He rolls his eyes with what she might call affection, "the library won't go anywhere by morning you know."

She indulges the assumption with her typical offended scoff, put on for the sake of appearances. "Of course it will but I have to follow up on research when it strikes me!"

"Sure thing. I've never known anyone to get so excited writing bloody essays," he mumbles as he rises. Ron slips from the room and returns a few moments later with the map. He hands it over and flops back down on the sofa.

Hermione looks it over and right there is his name. Draco Malfoy is approaching the astronomy tower. She notes the corridors in that area seem otherwise empty and watches just until his name enters the tower and then he stops. It doesn't occur to her she might do well to check over more of the castle, to find Harry for instance, obsessed as she now is with finding Draco.

She hands it back over, trying to control the shaking of her hands. "Looks all clear in this part of the castle. Think I'll be alright."

"Careful then. See you." He dismissively waves at her with a hand clutching a small cluster of beans then pops them all disgustingly in his mouth.

She waves, hiding the grimace at how in the world _that_ must taste, as she slips from the room and through the portrait hole. The Fat Lady eyes her suspiciously. "A little late isn't it, dear?"

"Prefect emergency," she lies. Somehow, probably her reputation for being a goody-two-shoes rule enforcer, the portrait gives her an understanding "ahhhh" and affirming nod.

Hermione is suddenly aware how Malfoy must see her and her doubts resurface, hammering hard at her insides. He doesn't even _like_ her. Even taking out the blood purity issue, even giving the benefit of the doubt that the real Malfoy runs as deep as her fantasy version, she's still not exactly a witch that makes the boys swoon. Hell, she couldn't even capture the attention of Ronald Weasley and he claims to care about her deeply. What in the world would handsome, wealthy, popular Draco Malfoy see in her? She looks down at herself as she walks. Her clothes are always clean and pressed but she hardly paints a dynamic picture. All unkempt hair and sensible shoes, Hermione has natural prettiness at best, but more likely is simply horribly plain.

With every step, she is steeling herself against her own self-doubt. The closer she is to the Astronomy Tower, where she saw his name written on the map, the more ashamed and foolish she feels she's being. She imagines no scenario that she finds him in which he doesn't sneer at her, question what a mudblood is doing bothering him, having the audacity to approach him…

It's only as she draws near and hears low voices does her heart skip and her breathing stops.

He's here of course, as the map had showed, but he's not alone.

She hears Draco's unmistakable voice clearly then a low murmur from someone else. Far from the velvety quality that makes her nearly salivate in dreams, Draco sounds strained and tense. He's coming apart and suddenly she can move again and her heart beats and her breath comes fast as she creeps the rest of the way. She's vaguely aware of questionable noises elsewhere in the castle but can't bothered to concern herself at the moment.

"I have to do this," he's virtually screaming now. "I have to do this or he'll kill me." The soft whisper is harder to hear than the panicked scream. She can hear the sorrow in his voice and suddenly she realizes the gravity, and the sheer obviousness, of what she's witnessing.

The dreams. The dreams are _true_ , Godric save her. She's positive Draco has no idea. He was absolutely insistent they were his. Of course she was equally insistent but they both waved each other's confidence away, sure that they were only very convincing figments.

She feels glorious, basking in the possibility of his actual love.

She feels wretched, terrified of what is going to happen to him after this night.

All sound vanishes as she steps into the tower, the din of Draco arguing with Dumbledore drowned out for a pounding in her ears that could only be her own heart. Her chest feels frail and her head swims against the strain of her own forward motion.

She pushes past the growing panic and finds herself staring into the room. Grey eyes, rimmed red and angry, widen at her arrival. Dumbledore's own normally twinkling expression is dim, his posture hunched and turned inward, and even he seems shocked by her entrance.

She has a moment during which she's proud to have finally one-upped the mildly infuriating old wizard who always seems to know more than he should.

"Ms. Granger, I must insist you make your way to your dormitory with much efficiency."

"I'm sorry, sir, but no. I'll not be leaving while he has a wand pointed at you." She glances toward Draco and the action makes him visibly stiffen before his eyes narrow.

"Get the fuck out of here, Granger," he rasps at her with what sounds like venom but feels like fear.

She shakes her head stubbornly and fixes him with a vulnerable stare. Sucking in a deep breath, she tries a simple, "Don't do this, Draco, please. You can find another way. Dumbledore will help you."

"This is none of your business and don't talk to me like you know me!"

"Don't I?" she tries with significance, but he doesn't waiver. Maybe she's not being obvious enough? Or maybe... she was wrong? A coincidence? She's a bright witch, so she's told. Maybe her subconscious just figured out Malfoy really did have a secret mission. Maybe the magic of the castle gave her the dreams to aide her. Maybe there's something to astrology and divination and all that after all...

"I know you think you don't have a choice but I'm telling you, that you do. He'll help you. I'll help you." She takes a step toward him and stops cold when he turns his wand on her. It's amazing how much that simple movement makes her heart hurt. He's obviously terrified, his wand arm shaking visibly. Unfortunately, as understandable as it is, it still hurts and she blinks away stinging tears.

"Don't fucking come near me!" He shifts the wand back to Dumbledore and adds, "And don't you move either!"

Hermione has never seen anyone look so manic. She looks to Dumbledore, reaching for something buoyant as she feels like she's drowning in Draco's sea of panic and fear. "Sir, please, you have to help him."

"I'm afraid, Miss Granger, that Mr. Malfoy has me at somewhat of a disadvantage. I can only offer help he's willing to take," he nods his head indicating Draco's wand, "under current circumstances. I really must implore you to leave, Hermione. You understand as my student, your safety is paramount, far outweighing my own."

"He won't hurt me," she offers. She looks at her would-be lover, searching her eyes as if for confirmation, assured as she tries to sound.

"I have much faith in his inherent goodness myself. Unfortunately there are others that might be making an appearance this evening that will not hesitate to do your harm."

She takes in a breath and guesses the rest. "Death Eaters," she exhales. "He let in… Death Eaters."

He eyes her, a question on his lips she can nearly taste. _Ask it_ , she silently begs. _Ask what I know_. Where is her courage? She's paralyzed with her own insecurity. Trying to project calm and a soft demeanor, she is tearing herself apart on the inside with indecision.

They stand, all at a perceived impasse, in an imperfect triangle on a cold stone floor. Hermione is running through ideas, fighting back her own doubts, formulating plans, when a familiar drawl snaps the quiet.

"We don't have time for this. This is already taking too long. You're out of time, Albus."

Snape is looking down his own wand that is pointed rather indirectly at the center of their group and yet at no one in particular. Order or Death Eater? Hermione has never been as perplexed by the man's loyalties as she is now.

"Indeed. I'm afraid, Mr. Malfoy, the decision is about to be made for you." Dumbledore indicates Hermione with his head and questions, "And what of Miss Granger, Severus?"

Her wide brown eyes land on her least favourite professor and she holds her breath. "What would you suggest, Headmaster? The girl is in an unfortunate location at a most inopportune time." Does he mean to kill her?

"So I'm just... collateral damage?" Her eyes flick to Draco and she tries, "expendible?" A flicker of recognition ignites her bravery and she pushes just once more. "But I can be bold."

"Don't be so dramatic, you silly girl. Leave. Now." He is gesturing to the hidden stairs from which he just emerged but she refuses to look away from Draco's face, daring him to accept. Begging him to prove her right.

"What about Draco?"

"I'm afraid Mr. Malfoy's attendance at this particular meeting is required."

She shoots a quick glance at Snape then back to Draco, "I'll not leave him here to throw his life away on a futile cause. He has to... he can find something else to fight for...someone…"

Teary, earnest eyes boring into his, she's studying him, hoping he will recognize their shared words, moments from their dreams, carefully crafted to use in reference, when he softly questions, "...Hermione?"

Missing the interaction, Snape raises his wand to her and responds to her last remark, "I'm afraid I'm not giving you a choice." The stunning spell drops her before she can reply, Draco's name on her lips as they were slowly curving into a smile.

XXX

Harry can't see anything from his hidden position. He's cursing Dumbledore for rending him so useless. He should be out there, protecting his mentor. Draco has already proven he can be easily bested. Then Hermione's voice had joined the chorus and he's utterly confused. She sounds breathless and desperate and he can't figure out how she found him.

When Snape enters, he first pauses to make a condescending shushing motion at Harry before continuing on. He is telling Hermione to leave but Harry believes there is a threat somewhere beneath. What if she doesn't? Having never truly believed in Snape's loyalty, he is more than torn now.

Hermione sounded passionate when she was pleading for Draco to make another choice. Then stubborn, as only Harry's best friend can sound, when she said she would not leave Draco to his fate.

Suddenly there is a soft thud and then the quiet is torn by a roar from Malfoy. He is screaming "NO!" and he sounds angrier and more determined than Harry would have believed the coward could ever be. There is scuffling, sounds as though a duel being fought and then Dumbledore saying, "This evening is turning out much different to my original plans."

"Yes, I imagine so," drawls Snape in reply.

Whatever might have come next is interrupted by the cackling laugh of Bellatrix LeStrange. "Oh ho and what have we here?"

"Good evening, Bellatrix." It is Dumbledore that answers.

"Severus, you shouldn't have," she says gleefully. "Is this for me?"

"Nothing I do is for _you_ , Bellatrix," he answers back. Harry can practically hear the sneer he knows he must wear.

"What happened to ickle Draco? Narcissa will be most put out."

"He failed in his task obviously, and was struck down."

"Worthless boy," she spits back. "I knew he was unworthy of the mark, of our Lord."

"It is of little consequence to our goal."

"You're absolutely right, dear Severus. Headmaster, have you any last words?"

Harry hears a weak and raspy voice, begging, "Severus. Please." Then Snape says the words and Harry sees a flash of green light creep through the cracks in the stone. He drops to his knees, hand covering his mouth to muffle the scream or sob that would have followed.

"What of the boy," asks a voice that Harry doesn't know.

"He should be killed for his failure," comes Bellatrix's reply. She's flippant, as if she's just decided what she shall order for breakfast.

"You know I can't let you do that." There is a resolution to Snape that begs no argument.

"Leave him then." Her voice is cold now. As chilly as her normally insane frivolity can be, her callous and unfeeling tone is enough to cut through to bone. "Let the order pick him apart. It's not as if he knows anything."

Snape offers, "Your sister will be unhappy if you leave your nephew. You realize the Dark Lord will paint a target on his back as large as Potter's. All of our brethren and every snatcher in his service will be hunting for him. That's if the order even leaves him alive."

"Well that's what makes it so fun. Regardless, we can't waste our time. It's his own fault for being so weak. Your vow should be satisfied at least, with the task finished."

Harry assumes Snape is in agreement as the conversation comes to an abrupt end. He hears Bellatrix cast the spell to send Voldemort's mark to poison the night sky and then the stomping of boots and whooping of Lestrange as they descend the tower.

Once the yells and sounds of destruction have faded to nearly impossible to hear, Harry sneaks away from his position to enter the room.

At first he doesn't find Hermione at all. When he finally finds her body, it's as though a glamour is fading and he doesn't stop to wonder why she was bathed in a disillusion charm.

She iscollapsed mere feet from where he hid and he rushes to her side, praying to Merlin or any muggle God who will listen that she's not dead. He's run through a thousand scenarios while waiting in the dark. Questioning the loyalties of Snape and wondering just what happened to result in the scene before him.

None of it matters because when he reaches her she is alive. Harry chokes back another sob and cradles her, thanking whichever deity answered his prayer. He looks around the tower and finds Draco still slumped over across the stone floor. Dumbledore is nowhere to be found.

Harry gently lays Hermione on the floor and walks to where he thought it sounded as though the Headmaster had been. Approaching the low window, he has a terrible thought and slowly peers over the side, down into the courtyard below.

There, bathed in the sickening green light of the slowly fading Dark Mark, is the body of Albus Dumbledore, broken and bent unnaturally beneath them. Harry howls and punches the stone, splitting the knuckles on his hand. His first thought is to chase after the Death Eaters, to throw a Sectumsempra at their backs as they slink away.

Then he realizes he has a Death Eater right here. No reason to go through the trouble.

He is across the floor in but a moment. Hauling off with more strength than he knew he had, he kicks into Draco's side, uncaring that he is already unconscious. Again and again, he pulls back and lets loose and is satisfied to hear the thunk of his trainer pounding into soft flesh and breakable bones.

He's lost to it, counting numbly and repeating the action like a machine built for this. Just this.

"Harry, stop!" Hermione is screeching at him and grabbing his arm to pull him from the body. He ignores her at first, merely pulling his arm away and continuing in his task. She is relentless and finally he can speak again and he's yelling at her, "They killed him! They fucking killed him!"

"Harry, please!" She sounds anguished now and Harry is foolish enough to believe it is for love of his pure soul, begging him not to taint himself with this violence. He finally stops and backs away, spitting on the body of Draco Malfoy as he does and turning to take her in his arms in comfort.

Instead she pushes past him and falls to her knees beside Malfoy's body, weeping and clinging to him like the heroine of a tragic romance.

"Draco? Draco, wake up." He watches her fumble for her wand and she is casting a numbing charm on his side where Harry did the most damage. Once satisfied she has succeeded in that, she casts a soft Enervate and lays the wand at her side.

Harry stares at her incredulous. She is taking care of their enemy. And he doesn't mean that in a school yard rival sense. This boy is on the other side of a bloody _war_. Someone _died_ tonight and she's playing nursemaid and leaving herself unarmed?

"Hermione, get away from him. What are you doing? Dumbledore-"

Draco's gasp of air as he comes to and subsequent wracking coughs interrupts and Harry freezes, watching as his friend lays her hands on the sides of Draco's face in a manner he can only describe as loving.

"Draco?"

There is a pause and everything is so quiet Harry can hear the three of them breathing. He watches as Draco's eyes dart between Hermione's and then he gently lifts a hand to touch her face.

"Hermione? _My_ Hermione?"

A single choked sob passes her lips and she is nodding furiously, pressing her forehead against his. "Yours. I'm yours. Always yours."

He's openly weeping now and clinging hard to her. "Thank, Merlin… you're real."

Suddenly Harry has never felt more awkward or more confused and as he watches his best friend sharing an intimate moment with someone who, just a moment ago, Harry was ready to kill in cold blood.

Tomorrow they will deal with the fall out of Dumbledore's death. Tomorrow he will tell his friends he plans to hunt for remaining horcruxes. Tomorrow, they will be at war.

For today though, watching his best friend cling to a sobbing Draco Malfoy with desperate affection on her face, all he can think to do is shuffle his feet as he hears a whispered, "I love you" exchanged between them.

 **A/N**

 **I almost didn't want to post this. I'm so sad for this to be over! Short epilogue left to go. I've had such a ball writing and posting this and hearing your thoughts and reviews!**

 **If you have enjoyed this 6th year A/U I'd like to just shamelessly plug another little piece I have titled Love is Foolish. It's quite bite size at only 5 chapters and less than 20k words so not a huge time commitment. A few of you have popped over and read it which, as those of you know, I appreciate :)**

 **Thank you all again for all the faves and follows and reviews. As we wrap up, I hope many of your follows translate to faves if you have enjoyed it!**

 **Love to hear from you and see you tomorrow for the epilogue!**


	16. Epilogue

Roughly one, long year later, in which a reluctant Draco learned to sleep in a tent and Ron Weasley became incredibly adept at silencing charms…

"Alright, love?" Draco finds her standing outside the doorway that once led to the Room of Requirement, now little more than smoldering stone. He has slipped his arms around her and settled his chin on her shoulder. She'd been sent on an errand to retrieve Dreamless Sleep potions for those currently infirmed, shortly after the final battle of the Second Wizarding War.

"I just can't believe it's gone. Feels like… like I've lost something important."

"I'm grateful to the Room, Hermione, but I don't need it anymore. I have everything I need now."

She turns in his arms and wraps herself around his neck. Hermione leans in and plants a soft kiss on his lower lip before she says, "Your mother was glaring at me you know. The world was going to hell around us in the middle of a war and she found the time to give me the stink-eye for sullying your reputation."

He chuckles, "Yes I noticed. The holidays should be interesting."

She snorts in agreement. "Christmas at the manor then? Delightful. Let's invite Severus for Boxing Day, make it just all around uncomfortable for everyone."

"I'm not sure he'd be allowed in the front door. Mother is furious he lied to her about my so called demise. I left them in the Great Hall to find you when she started screeching… something about weaseling his way out of a Vow."

"What else could he do? Pretending you were dead was the only way to keep you safe."

Hermione settles her head against his chest and they stand that way, wrapped around each other in silence as the dust still settles around them.

"So what now?"

"Australia?" She looks up at him and offers a soft smirk. "I understand my boyfriend is rather gifted at mind magic. Perhaps he can help reverse the Obliviate he cast on my parents."

He scoffs. "Of course I can. I told you before, never cast a spell you can't control, Muggle girl."

"Muggle _born_ ," she corrects with affection.

"How about 'Mrs. Malfoy'. Does that name suit you?"

"I don't know." He looks at her in question, hurt flickering across his face. "I rather thought Draco Granger sounded nice. I'm a modern girl you know."

He kisses her then, for her sass or in spite of it, and vows to never let her go. She is his whole world. Required and desired and now finally his.

He starts when he feels her hand playfully run his chest and pull at his shirt, running her hands up the skin of his back. She nips at his mouth and pushes her body against him.

"Right here in the corridor, Miss Granger? Very forward of you. Very… bold."

She winks and agrees cheekily, "In your dreams."

~Fin~

 **A/N**

 **Finished! Thank you all a million times for reading, reviewing, favorite-ing, and following! I hit 200 reviews while in progress on this which is a landmark for me! Thank you all so much for that! And if you want to visit any of my previous works I still appreciate comments on those more than I can say!**

 **A little part of me that considered making this a longer story (like connecting chapter 15 to the epilogue) is considering a Drabble collection of outtakes. I've always wanted a Drabble series :) It might be anything from scenes during their time on the run, dreams from Hermione's point of view, to even something after all events conclude, told most likely in no particular order. I'd love to hear from you in a review if you would be interested in that. I have loved this little world and might want to play a little longer, one fun scene at a time.**

 **I also do intend to get back on First They Came. This wasn't supposed to detract so badly but I obsessed over this story, spending hours editing as I posted, to the point I wasn't getting much actual writing done!**

 **Very much looking forward to final reviews and also hoping you will grant me a "favorite" if you have enjoyed this little tale.**


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